Loomings
by Hawki
Summary: Novelization: The seeds of Chau Sara's destruction were sewn long ago. As the whirlwind is reaped, both Man and xenomorph must deal with the consequences. Such is the way of fate and the Zerg Swarm...
1. Tides of Darkness

"_Humans have a tendency towards triumphalism. I suppose it's understandable really, at least in our case. Thrown into the deep end of space by the powers that be on Earth, it's only taken us two centuries to get where we are now. An entire sector under the control of three mighty nations, each controlling dozens of star systems and the planets within them. We stake our claims around stars and dwell within their light. Of the darkness in-between however, we know nothing. Of the space between stars, between galaxies, we are completely ignorant…"_

"…_and being the arrogant arses that we are, most of us are fine with that."_

Dr. John Ashton, archeologist

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 1: Tides of Darkness**

Silence.

It was the natural state of the universe, the only given in the dark, unforgiving void of space. Bereft of air, sound could not travel through the shroud of eternity, the emptiness that had been born from the cataclysm of hellfire, the herald of the universe's beginning, the birth of light, matter and time. So would it remain this way, lasting a thousand times a thousand years unto the extinction of mortal flesh.

The universe was not completely empty though; here and there, there would be matter of varying insignificance, ranging from the faint, sputtering suns that were doomed to die to the paltry chunks of solid matter that orbited them. It was on the latter that even lower forms of creation in the universal hierarchy existed, some even reaching sentience; the stage where they realized their insignificance in the greater scheme of things and developed emotion and what they called civilization to deny this, to give their existence a sense of purpose. It was a system repeated on dozens of worlds, all of them featuring creatures that would not live to see the end of eternity and unable to comprehend such a fact.

There was an exception though.

Its consciousness extended for light years, its thoughts echoing throughout space and time. It was the manifestation of destiny, the herald of defiance against the cold, unforgiving universe, able to fight against creation due to its nature being even more void of emotion. It would have been accurate to say that the universe itself was a reflection of its inner being, at least without the paltry light of the stars. Indeed, unlike such balls of plasma, the being was not doomed to die.

It had seen to that long ago.

The manifestation of perfection, the mind of a species that had risen above the constraints of baser existence, the being sought to solidify its place in the universal order, its eventual, inevitable cry of triumph set to drown out even the birth scream of space and time. Such a scream would itself a manifestation, namely that of all those that had stood against the being and its kind, unable to comprehend the folly of doing so, unable to understand that it was a creature of a higher order, a state of existence that they could never achieve.

Yet perfection would come with a determinant. One last trial awaited the being, its consciousness having led it to the western fringes of the galaxy, the edge of a centre of light that would eventually be bereft of all life. It was here, the section of planets known as the Fringe Worlds to its inhabitants, that the being would secure the key to its final, inevitable victory.

It had started off subtlety, sending its minions to infest the most insignificant planets of this miserable section of space, known as the Koprulu Sector to those who dwelt within it. That had been more than a decade however, and no progress had been made. Slightly amusing really, that these base life forms, the final determinant to perfection's victory, had bothered defying the inevitable in the first place. To a creature with the gift of immortality, mere years were nothing. Its patience was infinite. Its life was infinite. Its victory however, was only a matter of time.

Yet the scouts, mere cells of a giant whole, had been found too easily, dealt with too easily. Although it had every right to hold pride in its existence and sneer at the baser forms of life that existed in the galactic order, the being was not above learning and adapting. Even such a creature as itself experienced evolution, albeit of the controlled variety, a control that would soon extend over all of physical creation.

Its wisdom utilized, the being saw what had to be done.

It was time to show these worms the ways of humility.

It was time to show the universe the might of physical creation, to extend from the gulf and feed.

It was time to make its move against the world of Chau Sara.

* * *

**2302 hours, October 21, 2499 (SCT)**

_**Explorer**_**-class science vessel **_**Vigilance**_

**Fringes of Sara System**

Captain John Gulliman hated his job.

It was a fact that he didn't express often of course, what with the need to maintain authority over those below him and to keep those who signed his pay check sweet. Still, that still didn't change the fact that he was stuck on a ship that should have been decommissioned years ago and was situated on the edge of the galaxy at the very limits of civilization.

_Then again, it's to be expected really, _he thought to himself, bringing up a holographic map of the system as if to emphasize his point. The Koprulu Sector had never been kind to its inhabitants, ever since their arrival two centuries ago. Hell, it had never been the intended target in the first place. That planet was Gantris VI, situated about a year's worth of warp travel from Old Earth. No-one had expected the supercarriers' navigation systems to shut down, the result being that the carriers arrived in the galaxy's most dingy corner.

Not that the United Powers League cared of course. After all, the entire exodus had been simply part of an effort to rid humanity's homeworld of every drug dealer, rapist, tech pirate and honest-to-God psychopath that the planet had to offer, deciding that putting them to good use on an outlying planet was a better option than carrying out orderly disposal. Two centuries had passed since then and in that period, the descendents of such criminals spreading across the area of space that came to be known as the Koprulu Sector, most of it done by the Terran Confederacy, the government that Gulliman served.

_Biggest mistake of my life too, _he thought to himself bitterly, taking down the hologram and once again trying to tap into a holo feed from Tarsonis. As usual, the words **No Signal **popped up.

It wasn't exactly the most constructive use of time, and the captain suspected there was some kind of regulation against this kind of activity, or lack of it, somewhere in Confederate files. Still, there were worse crimes that a man could commit and the armed forces of the Confederacy spent most of their time dealing with them. Criminals themselves mostly, but then again, so were all those of the Koprulu Sector at heart. To get a career in the armed forces, you didn't have to prove that you could shoot someone. Rather, you had to prove that you could shoot the right person. Or, in Gulliman's case, the ability to give the orders for such an action.

_Not that I'll ever get the opportunity…_

It wasn't the last time that Gulliman regretted his choice to accept the offer to join Epsilon Squadron and if he wasn't currently living the last hour of his life, it wouldn't have been the last. It had come as a surprise to him upon graduating from his officer's training unit that he'd been offered a place in one of the Squadrons-independent units that combined elements of the Marine Corps and Colonial Fleet under a single system. The more famous units, such as the "Blood Hawks" of Alpha Squadron and the "Death Heads" of Omega Squadron were something akin to the stuff of legend, or at least the units of choice whenever the Council felt like injecting some propaganda into the news feeds. Epsilon Squadron however, was a unit that he'd never heard of.

Upon entry, he soon found out why.

Epsilon Squadron was tasked with operating a network of science vessels and similar monitoring stations throughout the borders of the Koprulu Sector, given the job monitoring the Fringe Worlds and other such similar backwater colonies and doing jack shit if anything bad happened, their role simply to send reports to the higher ups. If there was any difference in its duties between its duties and those of Sector Patrol, Gulliman had yet to see it. Eleven years of service and a practically empty career service vitae later, the man had come to the conclusion that there _was _no difference.

_Oh yeah, there's the fact that Sector Patrol gets flashy ships._

Sighing, Gulliman looked around the interior of his office, knowing that the drab walls and flickering lights were identical to those throughout the ship. He knew from experience that the _Vigilance _was aptly named. Not for its supposed task of keeping watch over the borders of the Terran Confederacy, but because vigilance was something that every crew member needed to possess to ensure that its life support systems didn't fail or something even more dangerous, yet just as likely occurred. Besides, if it had been the case of the latter, it wouldn't have been in the Sara System, housing the twin planets of Chau Sara and Mar Sara, Apart from the fact that the two planets orbited their star in the same orbit, allowing the system a degree of fame for being one of the few to have more than one habitable world, there was nothing particularly remarkable about it. Chau Sara, the more developed of the two colonies featured some lush jungles and a population of 400,000, but apart from that, it was no different from its sister planet Mar Sara, consisting of hard baked mud and scrub, with agriculture that required constant irrigation. Set on the edge of Confederate space, it was the last place anyone would expect to find trouble. True, Chau Sara had been experiencing some rebel/terrorist activity in the last few months, but nothing worth worrying about.

The green light flashing above Gulliman suggested otherwise…

Hearing and seeing the light, the captain looked over to the upper right corner of his office, seeing the blinking indicator, informing him that there was a message from the bridge. Sighing, yet secretly glad to have an excuse to do something other than sit around and go down the path of "what if?" Gulliman flicked on the comms.

"Captain Gulliman here."

There was a small stutter on the other end of the line; "Um, sir? This is Ensign O'Donnell. I…I think we have a situation."

Gulliman sighed, remembering O'Donnell that had volunteered for service on the _Vigilance_ about two months ago, under the delusion that it could provide a less dreary life than what the Sara System provided. He couldn't remember which planet the boy had come from, but then again, Mar Sara and Chau Sara were equally dreary. It could have been either.

Not that he cared anyway.

"Ensign, how many times do I have to repeat myself?" asked the captain irritably. "If life support fails, simply lock down the relevant sector and-…"

"It's…it's not that sir."

"Hmm?" Gulliman asked, raising an eyebrow. There was a distinct tone of fear in the ensign's voice. A tone that he couldn't remember any of the crew using before.

A few seconds passed before O'Donnell answered. "Some…something's happening sir. Outside the station. I…I think you better come to the bridge sir."

Gulliman closed his eyes, a combination of weariness and frustration. O'Donnell was probably being jumpy. It wasn't uncommon for science vessels to pick up solar flares or meteor showers, the readout implying that there was a threat, or at least another terran presence. An experienced officer could easily spot the difference, but when one combined inexperience with youth, traits that O'Donnell both possessed, it could lead to a lot of false alarms.

"Sir?"

Like now, for example.

Gulliman sighed. Part of him to stay put, leaving it to the kid to find out what was happening itself. But still, he rarely got to exercise his authority over the crew. Mostly the ship could run by itself. Giving orders would make a change, even if it would only last a few minutes.

"Alright ensign, I'm on my way up," the captain said, leaving his office for the bridge.

The last time he would do so…

* * *

**2317 hours, October 21, 2499 (SCT)**

_**Explorer**_**-class science vessel **_**Vigilance**_

**Fringes of Sara System**

"Captain on deck!"

Walking onto the ship's bridge, it came as no surprise to Gulliman that not only had been O'Donnell who had heralded his arrival, but only half of the bridge's crew had bothered to actually salute. A decade ago, he would have picked up on this, but like said crewmates, lethargy had set in. Of course, the fact that he no longer bothered to wear a command suit; a scaled down version of CMC-300 powered combat suit used by soldiers, may have also contributed to this. Command suits were often functionally unnecessary, but at least helped convey a sense of authority.

"At ease," Gulliman murmured, giving a half-hearted salute of his own He walked over to O'Donnell."

"Well?" he asked the boy. "What's the occasion?"

"Hard to say sir. You better ask Lash."

Gulliman knew who Lash was. Commander Richard Lash, his second-in-command and one of the few people on the ship that hadn't sunk into apathy, a trait demonstrated by the man's crisp salute upon Gulliman turning to face him.

"I assume that there's a reason for dragging me up here," Gulliman murmured to his XO.

Lash nodded, getting the straight to the point as usual. "Yes sir." He pressed a few buttons on a nearby console, an image of the system popping up on the main view screen, displaying its sun, planets, asteroid field and a…

"Warp space rupture at twenty-three eleven hours, about seven klicks from our position."

Gulliman remained silent, looking for the point of origin. He quickly found it. Right on the system's fringe, near-…

"The inner regions?" asked Gulliman. "But that's outside the Koprulu Sector, towards the galactic centre. What's anyone doing out there?"

It was a valid question. Three governments had formed in the Koprulu Sector since the original landing-the Terran Confederacy, Kel-Morian Combine and Umojan Protectorate. And despite their different systems of government and territory, they all kept to the galactic fringe, the Confederacy being the outermost with its colonization of the Fringe Worlds on the edge of the galaxy. The inner regions of the galaxy were generally left alone however. There were exceptions, but not near the Sara System.

"Hell if I know sir," Lash murmured, answering his superior. "But that's not the real mystery we have here." Before Gulliman could ask about said mystery, Lash typed on the console, bringing up energy readings of the warp space rupture.

Gulliman raised an eyebrow; "This can't be right," he murmured. "The ship's systems must be going out of whack."

Lash laughed hollowly; "Sir, I know that the _Vigilance_ is falling apart, but nothing's wrong with its sensors. Remember when we picked up that solar flare last week?"

Gulliman remained silent, instead concentrating on the abnormally low readings and depiction of the warp/real space interface.

Warp space, from what Gulliman understood, was a fifth dimension (or seventh or something, he was no astrophysicist) consisting purely of energy, not bound by the laws of the physical universe. With numerous currents of energy, it was possible for a ship to hitch a ride on one of these, thus achieving super luminal speed. Engines were still required to keep the ship moving and steady, but with the extra boost and the absence of Einstein's Theory of Relativity, it was possible to travel dozens of light years in just a few standard intervals. To enter warp space however, required a high amount of energy, or, in some recent custom ships, extreme precision. In the case of the first example, capital ship engines had to spend hours charging before attempting to make a jump. The result was, just like in re-entry to the physical universe, was a high residue of energy namely caused by the warp energy tumbling into real space. It wasn't the case this time however, and Gulliman knew it. The readings were low, so low that if warp space didn't have its own distinct energy signature, the ship's sensors could have easily mistaken them as a misdirected transmission from Chau Sara. But that wasn't what truly unnerved him…

The overlay was too perfect.

When it came to warp space entry/exit, every vessel did so individually, appearing or reappearing in its own burst. Human technology was sophisticated enough to allow ships to maintain cohesion and avoid materializing in a sun or crashing into a planet, but no amount of skill or current level of human technology could account for a single gateway with such a low level of residue.

"Could this be a natural phenomenon or something?" Lash asked nervously, reflecting the state of unease that had gripped not only himself and Gulliman, but indeed every crewman on the bridge, any apathy having been shaken off.

"I certainly hope so," Gulliman whispered. "Because if not, we-…"

"Sir!" interrupted a voice. "Warp space overlay discharging numerous bodies."

"What!?" Gulliman exclaimed, spinning around to face Lieutenant Carrington, the source of the exclamation.

"Yes sir! Dozens of bodies, none of them larger than a gunship, are exiting the gateway and are heading in our direction. ETA is roughly seven minutes."

"Any indication as to their origin?"

"None sir," the lieutenant answered. "The bodies appear to be in formation, but there's nothing that hints of any standard classification, or even that they're of human origin.

Numerous words and phrases were going through Gulliman's mind, the only reason that they weren't said out loud was to maintain an image of calm, to give the impression that he had the situation under control. It seemed to work, but he knew that unless he gave an order soon, his authority, indeed, perhaps their very lives, wouldn't last. That such bodies were in formation suggested that there was some organization to their direction, indeed, their very origin and that of the warp space gateway, was a mystery. But who would be out here without following standard communication practice?

_The Sons of Korhal are a distinct possibility, _thought Gulliman bitterly, remembering how Arcturus Mengsk's band of butchers had been active on Chau Sara the past few months, carrying out everything from raids on Confederate installations to suicide bombings against civilian targets. The destruction of a science vessel, although tactically useless, would probably be a great boon for their propaganda, making it the most spectacular display of their fanaticism since their attack on the Ghost Academy seven years ago. They weren't the only rebel group that the Confederacy faced-the government ruled its worlds with an iron fist and it was frankly no surprise that more than a few of its citizens became frustrated with such administration. Still, it was safe to say that the SOK were the most prolific, most fanatical and, although the government would never admit it, the most dangerous.

But how could they have technology that allowed them to warp in like this? Why were they coming from the galaxy's inner regions when they were theoretically located in the Sara System or towards the interior of the Koprulu Sector? Why-…

"Um, sir?"

Gulliman turned to Lash, a look of concern on the Commander's face. Gulliman cleared his head of his misgivings, realizing that, for the first time in more than a decade, he had a situation on his hands. Acting, not thinking, was what was required.

Gulliman nodded; "Alright." He swiveled around; "Lieutenant Carrington, keep monitoring the bodies. Commander Lash, begin readying an EMP, we may need to buy some time for an escape. Ensign O'Donnell, open a link with Chau Sara." He gazed around at the faces that seemed to have trouble registering his orders. "Now!"

With a flurry of activity, all those on the bridge turned to their appointed tasks, ranging from weapons monitoring to navigation. Gulliman glanced at the view screen as he activated the ship's comm. System, ready to alert all hands to the situation. The warp space gateway remained constant, yet the energy was as low as it had been before.

_The astrophysists are going to have a field day if we get through this, _he thought to himself.

Gulliman didn't like the key word in that sentence.

* * *

**2326 hours, October 21, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Office of the Colonial Magistrate**

57 year old Magistrate Edwin Collins was one of the few individuals in the universe that could simultaneously make someone toe the line while causing said individual to think _dear god, how did such a waste of flesh and bone get into such a position of authority?_

As such, any analysis of the brown haired, brown eyed man with a bushy moustache that complemented his uniform would have to take various factors into account.

Although it was rarely, if ever stated, Collins was a rather lax individual, having a liking for cigars, vodka and, rumor had it, hab. Still, given that he had the position of authority over a prominent world (well, prominent for the Fringe Worlds at least), the fact remained that he was held a degree of power. If Collins asked you to jump, you immediately asked "how high?" With a love of power, as long as there were no threats to his status, one could count on the magistrate to be his usual lax, arrogant self. Any threat to said status and…well, best not to be in the immediate vicinity.

Still, Collins had earnt his position, which was more than could be said for some figures in the Confederate government. Joining the Colonial Fleet at the age of 23, Collins progressed relatively slowly through the ranks, the brass suspecting, with good reason, that any effort he made was to progress through the ranks until he reached the position of Admiral, where he would believe that he could kick back in relax. In actual fact this was only partly true. it was mostly due to the fact that as fun as blowing stuff up and sending space pirates to the depths of hell was, Collins found _telling _people to do these things even more enjoyable. His promotion to Captain seven years ago however, had seemed like a glimmer of hope. A few more years, he reasoned, and he'd probably in line for the position of Admiral.

_But things changed, _the man thought to himself. _Everything changed…_

The epicenter of change was on the world of Korhal IV, one of the first colonies that the inhabitants of Tarsonis had colonized. A shining world of affluence and civilization, it came as a surprise to some when its citizens demanded independence from their colonial masters. For others, it wasn't a surprise at all. The Confederacy had always ruled its colonies with an iron fist and Korhal had been in its grip the longest. Life may have been comfortable, but sometimes, that wasn't enough. Sometimes, people wanted freedom, even at the cost of luxury.

They seemed to have been on their way to get it too. The Confederacy had set out to make an example of its wayward colony, wanting to show its citizens what the price of rebellion was. As things turned out, it did set an example, but not the one it intended. Korhal turned into a success story of how colonies _could _overthrow their colonial masters, removing all Confederate influence from their world, despite the assassination of the rebels' leader, Angus Mengsk. After years of protest, both on the battlefield and in the Senate, Korhal had essentially achieved its goal of independence. The fight continued, what with Arcturus Mengsk taking over from his father, but for all intents and purposes, Korhal's fight had been won. Autonomy had seemed imminent.

Of course, the Confederacy had one last card to play…

The trump card was regarded as "the final solution". On a fateful day in 2492, the solution was enacted. In an instant, twenty _Behemoth_-class battlecruisers had appeared over Korhal's skies. In an instant, their launch bays opened. In an instant in orbit, 1000 _Apocalypse_-class nuclear warheads had been fired at the planet below, killing 35 million people. It was quite an explosion, and Collins, one of the captains of the battlecruisers, had found it the most enjoyable part of his career. There was something about vaporizing rebels and dissidents that was so…satisfying.

Everything had gone downhill from there though, for both Collins and the Confederacy. With the storm of flak that the populace, the news networks included, were hurling at the Council, it had become clear that being a captain of a battlecruiser that had just dropped 50 nuclear warheads on a planet was not the best position to be in. Still, Collins had held out. It was the government's problem, not his. He'd let them deal with it.

They did so rather spectacularly. The Confederacy, trying to maintain face, had claimed that the rebels were planning to do the same to them and it was a "shame that all the evidence has been incinerated." To put a cherry on top, full scale nuclear weapons were banned on habitable worlds "to ensure that the horrors of nuclear war are never again repeated." Although the sundae was rotten, the media, for the most part, were willing to gloss over it and shove the putrid frosting down their gullets.

Then it happened.

Somehow, through unknown means, the identities of the twenty captains who'd launched the warheads had been leaked to the press, Collins included. With the formation of the Sons of Korhal and their attacks on the Confederacy in retaliation, the nuking of Korhal IV remained the subject of general interest. Those who had actually carried out the bombing were subject to everything from talk shows to assassination. And as of six months ago, only five of the captains remained; ten had been reduced to corpses and another five had committed suicide.

Being a shrewd individual, Collins could see that his military career was effectively over; any chance of promotion had gone down the crap hole and although he hadn't reached the stage where he had contemplated suicide assassination was still a likely prospect. The matter was hardly just going to fade away in the near future either, given that the jackals that worked for Universe News Network and its competitors had seemingly gone off on an antagonistic streak, criticizing the government and the affluent Old Families that ran the Confederacy from points of luxury.

Therefore, Collins had requested a transfer to somewhere quiet, somewhere that the press couldn't bother him. The Confederates, wanting to get the five remaining captains out of the spotlight (and indeed the entire affair), were more than willing, appointing him as magistrate of the Fringe World colony of Chau Sara. Exactly what happened to the previous magistrate was unknown to Collins, nor did he particularly care. That had been three months ago, and in that time, Collins had found himself liking the job…to an extent. The Confederates had conveniently failed to inform him on exactly how little political influence he had in the greater scheme of things and that Chau Sara was currently subject to the attentions of the Sons of Korhal.

_Those bastards. I nuke a planet and suddenly you're on a terrorist's hit list…_

Collins scowled as he watched the hologram that was playing in his office, displaying some burning building in Los Andares, apparently the subject of a bombing by the SOK. It was hardly surprising really. Mengsk had sworn to bring down the Confederacy at any cost to avenge the nuking of his homeworld and as such, considered anyone and anything a legitimate target, ranging from the Ghost Academy on Tarsonis to the environmental plant on Vyctor 5.

_It's so unfair, _Collins thought to himself, taking another sip of gin. _Out of the dozens of worlds in the Confederacy, why did that anarchist bastard have to choose _my_ planet? _Shaking his head and thinking of all sorts of unpleasant things he could unleash on the 'Slikes' of Korhal were he still in command of his old battlecruiser, he turned back to the reporter in the holo-vid, a man from Chau Sara's local network who probably had more teeth than brain cells. He was currently talking to some hick from the Colonial Militia.

"…and in conclusion, we must assume that this nefarious attack was carried out by the Sons of Korhal," the soldier was saying, his grey hair indicating that he was probably a bit too old to wear the CMC-200 armor that he was currently wearing. He turned to face the camera; "I can assure the good people of Chau Sara, especially the families of those who lost their lives in this tragedy, that this heinous crime will not go unpunished. The Colonial Militia will make every effort to ensure that-…"

Collins snorted, not bothering to listen. Two months of SOK attacks, attacks that were so common that they were no longer front page material, and the Colonial Militia had done next to nothing about the situation. Collins was beginning to suspect that there were some sympathizers in the militia, considering that the SOK was never where intelligence made it out to be. True, they weren't that well equipped, being stuck with stingy CMC-200 combat suits instead of the standard issue CMC-300 that most marines and nationalized militia wore, but even so, they should be able to do a better job than their current performance.

_Or not,_ Collins reminded himself. _They're just a bunch of Fringe World squibs after all. _Sighing, he took a final puff of his cigar and decided that he'd smoked enough for one night and it was time to move onto some hab. Not the best course of action for the ruler of a colony of 400,000, but then again, it wasn't as if the situation could get any worse…

Right?

* * *

**2334 hours, October 21, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara (geo-stationary orbit)**

**Satellite ****5**

For a boy who grew up on the most backwater part of the most backwater planet of the most backwater system in known space, 19 year old Daniel Parkes had liked the idea of going into space. Not liking the idea of cultivating the famous Saran pepper slices for the maggots back on Tarsonis, the chance to serve in space in zero-gravity settings had seemed like a dream come true. One month after being posted on the observation station however, seemingly modeled after the telescopes that had been used in the space programs of Old Earth, Daniel had been illuminated to a few key facts:

Fact: Zero-g lost its appeal quickly.

Fact: Zero-g meant constant exercise.

Fact: Zero-g meant it was impossible to sleep, eat or pee.

Fact: A law should be made that gravity accelerators should be installed on every terran ship

Fact: Space was boring.

Fact: The astronauts and cosmonauts of Old Earth hadn't been given enough credit.

Unfortunately, until he'd actually boarded the satellite, Daniel hadn't been aware of any of this; physics was a subject that Chau Sara didn't have enough brains for and most history was part of the Confederacy's state curriculum, concerning how great it was and how its sister planets of Moria and Umoja, who refused to join it in a triumvirate government were primitive and backward. Still, looking out into the void of space, Daniel found himself wishing that he was on one of those planets, regardless of how backwater they were. They would have to be more interesting than Chau Sara. But then again, that wasn't saying much.

The only good news was that he only had to put up with this for two months before being shipped back down the surface; considering that he had done little specialized exercise before being shipped up to space, any longer might result in damage to his skeletal integrity. Plus, there was the added bonus that, given how stingy a planet Chau Sara was, its observation satellites, tasked with monitoring for any interesting activity in Chau Sara's local vicinity, also doubled as communications satellites. As such, he was entitled to free holograms 24/7 and free to listen in on any juicy gossip that came in through the transceiver. Like what was happening now.

_Wait, what?_

Daniel looked over to the transceiver; sure enough, it was picking up a direct feed. Only difference was, the blue light was flashing, indicating that this transmission was meant for him personally. Sighing, Daniel floated over, ready to take a call from what he guessed was his mum.

"Hello?" he asked, putting on some headphones.

"This is Captain Gulliman of the _Vigilance_," came a voice at the other end. "Who am I speaking with?"

"Um…" Daniel trailed off. This didn't sound like his mum. Come to think of it, it didn't even sound civilian. Captain was a military rank…

"Hello!?" Daniel gulped. Definitely military.

"Um, yes, this is Daniel Parkes of Satellite-…"

"Fair enough," the captain interrupted. "I need you to relay this transmission to the office of the colonial magistrate, over."

"Er, sure," Daniel said, turning on the recorder that would save the transmission for him to relay to the intended recipient. As he did so, he glanced at the classification of the transmission as well as the point of origin. It was direct, had priority status and coming from a science vessel to the west, located on the fringes of the Sara System and for better or worse, Satellite 5 was the closest relay point. But even so, a direct transmission indicated a sense of urgency. True, pretty much any transmission was direct, being sent through the warp to their intended recipients. But even so, to come under such classification… Trying to suppress the feeling of unease that was growing in his gut, Daniel tried to focus.

"Alright, go ahead, over."

"We've detected an anomalous warp space/real space overlay," the captain said. "Multiple bodies are heading in our direction, their intent unknown. I'm sending warp space readings as we speak."

Daniel glanced at the console for said readings and frowned in disgust. The monitor was barely registering them, almost certainly due to malfunction. True, the Confederacy and all its sub governments were made up of stingy slikes (corruption was pretty much a requisite of service as far as Daniel could tell), but even so, this was a bit much, for readings to barely-

"I assure you that your equipment is not malfunctioning," Gulliman stated, as if reading Daniel's thoughts. "Nor is ours for that matter. What's important is that- HOLY SHIT!!!"

"Um, sir?" the teenager asked.

Daniel didn't receive an answer and given that all he heard on the opposite end of the transceiver was screams, cursing and explosions, this was hardly surprising. Raising a shaking hand, he grasped the transponder; "_Vigilance_, what is your status, over?"

"Jesus Christ, they're everywhere!"

"What the flick are these things!?"

"Sir, hull breaches on levels three to nine! Warp drives going critical also!"

"Sir, we have-…"

Daniel didn't know what else the ship had considering that the last legible words he heard were cut off by another explosion and a splattering sound. It was a prelude to another volley of incomprehensible curses and screams, first of fear and then of pain, followed by more explosions and then…

Silence.

Trying his best to keep his MRE dinner in, Daniel turned the axis of the satellite to face the _Vigilance_'s supposed co-ordinates. True, long range observation wasn't that accurate hence the need for scoutships, but considering how relatively close the science vessel was, Daniel doubted that he'd have a problem. Hands shaking, he adjusted the image and saw the_ Vigilance_, or what he supposed was the _Vigilance_. Throwing up, his mind processed the most unpleasant truth that he'd experienced in his life…

The _Vigilance_, for all intents and purposes, was no longer there.

Only debris and floating bodies were.

* * *

_A/N_

_This chapter isn't exactly new at this time of writing, as it, not to mention the story as a whole. Having returned to this fic after completing _Operation: Claws_, I decided that it would be best to start from scratch, as the former incarnation had a number of issues that I felt could be rectified. In this chapter, such issues included:_

_-Terminology. I stated originally that Colins was part of the Navy. Odd, considering that the Terran Dominion Navy Medical Corps is the only organization in which such a term has been used. Having corrected it to being the Colonial Fleet, I also made the _Vigilance _a regular science vessel as opposed to a fanon one of a made up _Discovery _class, equipping it with laser turrets. I'd rather work with canon ships rather than making them up. After all, there's no shortage of confirmed terran ship classes, at least three confirmed classes of science vessel existing alone. I don't have to make them up for a story to function._

_-Tried to make the story less like a history lesson. I cut down on the narrative, inserting more thought into it. A degree of background info is good for a fic, but readers aren't idiots. They don't want huge long essays on what they already know._

_Anyway, hopefully the chapter, and the story as a whole will be better off for it. Still, that's just my opinion. I'm open to others..._


	2. Cause and Effect

"_I have no doubt that other sentient species exist within this galaxy. I have no doubt that humanity will someday make contact with them. I just hope that it's Earth or one of her colonies that has such an honor. After all, if extra-terrestrials were to make contact with us terrans of the Koprulu Sector, what would they see? Three tyrannical empires, that's what. The Terran Confederacy which enforces its rule down the barrel of a gun, the Kel-Morian Combine which strip mines every planet it comes across without giving a damn about the environmental repercussions and the Umojan Protectorate, whose treatment of those outside its territories is essentially a form of racism. So while the United Powers League of Earth was not without its faults, I can only hope that they take humanity to the galactic stage before us. Any aliens who make contact with the denizens of the Koprulu Sector would assume that the human race is composed wholly of monsters."_

"_A fair assumption, to be honest."_

Dr. Maria Pratchett, xenobiologist

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 2: Cause and Effect**

**0946 hours, October 22, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Office of the Colonial Magistrate**

"Adjutant online. Good morning magistrate."

Walking into his office, his clothes and moustache unkempt, Collins could not help but feel that "good" was hardly the adjective he would have used to describe the morning, considering that said morning featured a hangover. With bloodshot eyes, a splitting headache and breath that stank to high heaven, it was a wonder that the artificial intelligence could not see that it might have been wise to utter something else than the greeting that she'd given him the last three months.

_Of course, that would be wishful thinking,_ the magistrate thought bitterly, moving to his desk, stopping and then making a short, rather disgusting detour to the wastepaper bin. No comment was made however. AIs, despite what sci-fi stories often portrayed, were rather simple programs, each of them tailored to suit a specific function and nothing else. After all, the human mind was a complex, relatively unknown entity and no amount of technology could completely mimic every aspect of the human thought process or, heaven forbid, emotion.

When it came to designing an AI, certain parameters had to be implemented, the thought patterns being based off a stimulated equivalent of human brainwaves. Advertising Artificial Intelligence, or AAI, was tasked with publicizing goods and services, only breaking such patterns when one inquired to the nature of its product, or when the process was interrupted. Military and administrative AIs, known as Adjutants, were the most advanced form of artificial intelligence that the Terran Confederacy had produced, universally possessing a cool female voice with no emotion. Usually serving as advisors to Confederate COs, Adjutants, despite their lack of creativity, often proved their worth in many military campaigns, not having their judgment clouded by emotion, moral qualms or, in the case of those like Collins, alcohol.

Collins, like many colonial magistrates, had been given an Adjutant of his own. As far as he could tell, its purpose was to simply remind him of what he had to do; forms to sign, people to fire, statements to make…basically make his life hell. The fact that it always greeted him with "good morning magistrate" and said farewell with "good evening magistrate" hardly helped matters.

"Magistrate, scans of your pupils show a high dilation of the blood vessels," the AI said, its cool, almost female voice washing over Collins as he emptied the last of the cheap gin that he'd drunk last night, along with other stuff that he couldn't identify. "May I remind you that this is against Confederate regulations and as such, liable to penalty should your superiors deem it necessary. A record of…"

_Oh stuff it down your circuts, _thought Collins bitterly as he raised himself slowly from the bin, wiping away some vomit off his moustache. He could hear the AI coding his offence of letting reality get to him into some combination of numbers and letters, but couldn't care less. It wasn't as if those higher than him would care about what happened on Chau Sara or what he did. Even that the Sons of Korhal had seemingly established a base of operations on the world was nothing to worry about. After all, despite all the media hype that surrounded Mengsk's anarchist group, they were merely one of many rebel organizations; generally insignificant in the greater picture.

Just like Collins in a sense.

_No, the_ magistrate thought to himself as he poured himself some water and sat down at his desk. _I'm not insignificant. I'll rise back up through the ranks. I'll achieve prominence. I'll-…_

"Sir, although you are entitled to take your time, there are some issues for you to deal with."

Collins grunted at the AI's manner of reminding him that, as magistrate, he was obliged to conform to the tenants of Confederate bureaucracy and at least act like he gave a damn about the people under his rule. As such, he was obliged to fulfill his role as the planetary governor; sign forms, lie to the media, make impassioned speeches that would subtlety remind the fringe-world squibs where their loyalties lay…

Usual stuff.

"Very well. Hit me," Collins grunted, taking a sip of his water.

"Affirmative," the AI stated and fell silent, processing all the 'issues' that Chau Sara's governor had to deal with. Despite his headache and dry throat that the artificial water did nothing to alleviate, Collins could not help but smile faintly. What may have been deemed as a "pressing issue" on Chau Sara would have been laughably insignificant in one of the more affluent Confederate worlds such as Tarsonis or Tyrador IX. In the first few weeks of his term as magistrate, Collins had made his shock quite apparent that, as governor of the planet, he had to deal with issues such as land disputes and irrigation rights. Still, he'd learnt to take things in context, spurred on by the hope that-…

"Sir, there is an urgent message from Satellite Five."

Collins blinked, immediately regretting it due to his bloodshot, sleep deprived eyes; "Pardon?"

"Sir, as stated, there is an urgent message from Satellite Five," the AI repeated, the monotone still present.

The magistrate rubbed his chin, taking in…well, not shock, but certainly an emotion that was above surprise. What had been classified as "urgent" on Chau Sara had been irrelevant in his mind and the former battlecruiser captain had ordered his 'co-worker' to alter her, no, _its_ protocols, ensuring that he could deal with even the "urgent" issues at his leisure. No reason to rush matters on such a dreary planet after all. Yet Collins had left such protocols open to what really classified as urgent matters and he knew it. That the AI had listed something as urgent left only two possibilities; that it was malfunctioning, a possibility that the terran didn't find too farfetched given how backwater Chau Sara was, or that there really _was_ an urgent matter that had to be dealt with.

"Magistrate?" the AI asked, waiting for Collins's response.

The former battlecruiser captain sighed, not only because of his hangover. Going by the holographic list, there were a number of things on his plate, most of which seemingly required nothing more than his signature. As per human nature, he would have preferred to procrastinate over the meaningful issues, seeking smaller fish to fry. On the other hand, Collins prided himself on organization and knew that if he was to live up to such a quality, dealing with the meaningful issues first was a must.

Taking another sip of water, Collins brought up the message, seeing that it was not really a message at all, but simply an alert that whoever was on the satellite wanted to speak to him personally. _Guess it really is urgent then, _Collins thought as he established a communications link, or rather let the equipment do it for him. _Or whoever's up there just wants the honor of talking with me._

It was a distinct possibility, considering that the communications hologram depicted nothing more than a single male crewman floating in zero-g, seemingly in his late teens. Despite viewing the Fringe World yokels with the disdain that they deserved, Collins could not help feelings a degree of sympathy for the runt. Being the single crewmember of a satellite was hardly the ideal way to be spending your teenage years, a part of life that, at least in Collins's case, had involved numerous 'sampling sessions' of drugs, alcohol and avoiding pregnancies that had nothing to do with him whatsoever. Still, despite the dreary circumstances, the kid still maintained a degree of alertness, given that as soon as the communications link was established, the teenager instantly turned away from the console he'd been studying and faced the vid-link.

"Um, yes?" he asked, sounding surprisingly jumpy in a way that didn't result from a zero-g environment.

Collins raised an eyebrow; he'd accepted the fact long ago that there was little, if anything on Chau Sara that could actually surprise him, so given that something_ had _just surprised him was a surprise in itself. The boy's face, his eyes…something had scared the living daylights out of him…

"Err, yes, this is Magistrate Collins," the partially wasted man said, trying to maintain a degree of composure, hoping that the kid wouldn't notice the signs of alcohol abuse. "I understand that-…"

"Oh thank god!" the boy exclaimed, his eyes moistening with what looked like tears of relief. "I tried to contact you last night but there was no connection on the other end, so I-…"

"Alright, alright, calm down," Collins interrupted, raising a hand. It was apparent that, in addition to panic, the kid was extremely naive, thinking that something was wrong with his office's communication system when in fact, any failure to respond to a transmission was due to Collins being stoned, the aftermath of which he was still dealing with.

The teenager managed to regain a degree of composure, but that wasn't saying much; "Sorry sir. It's just that…that...well, you better listen to this yourself."

"Huh? Listen to what?" Collins asked, his headache not just due to his hangover. The boy didn't answer though, instead typing something on the console feverishly. As he finished, a side image appeared next to the hologram, displaying a voice meter and readings of…something.

"This is a transmission from the _Vigilance_, an _Explorer_-class science vessel of Epsilon Squadron," the boy said, sounding calm but fooling no-one. "The meter next to it displays warp space readings." With that, he hit another button.

Collins didn't understand half of what the kid said, but didn't have the opportunity to delve deeper, given that whatever recording he'd sent him began playing;

"This is Captain Gulliman of the _Vigilance_…"

Even with a hangover, Collins managed to listen in to what was being said and the events, namely screams and explosions that surrounded such speech in the later stages of the transmission. As it ended, the magistrate sighed and helped himself to another cup of water-this was going to be hell to deal with, especially since-…

"Well sir?" Parkes asked, his voice quivering with trepidation.

Collins grunted; _Especially since the kid will need coddling_

Taking on an air of arrogance that came naturally to him, the magistrate sat back down at his desk. "You've done a fine job son," he drawled towards the hologram. "You just hang tight up there. I'll deal with those slikes of Korhal."

The boy blinked, such movements being noticeable even through the hologram; "Something you'd like to add, _son_?" Collins asked scathingly, wanting to make it clear that he considered the conversation over.

"Um…err…" the boy seemed to be a loss for words.

"Hurry up boy, I 'aint got all day!" Collins shouted, taking a swig of water, letting a significant amount dribble down his neck to his uniform. It was perhaps such a display of decadence that got the teen riled up.

"Yes, there is something that I'd like to add!" Parkes shouted. "I'd like to know how you could probably think that this is an SOK attack, especially in light of-…"

"That's not adding something," Collins murmured, looking for the button that would sever the connection. "That's asking a question."

"And a damn pressing one too!" the teenager shouted, seemingly quivering with rage that made his zero-g environment seem out of whack. "Have you even looked at the warp space readings, how low they are!? There's no way that any human ship could-…"

The hologram cut out.

"Impudent rascal," Collins chuckled, taking another sip from the cup and finding that it was out of water. "He's probably played too many videogames for his own good." Moving to the cooler for yet more H2O, then thinking better of it, Collins addressed his AI.

"Adjutant, I want the location of the nearest Confederate forces."

"Affirmative sir," said the construct impassively. "Scan is now in progress." A faint humming sound through the office, interrupted only by the magistrate taking out some gum from his desk.

"Sir, may I ask why you seem so at ease?" the AI asked.

"Hmm?" Collins asked, lying back against his chair and putting his feet on the desk.

"Magistrate, analysis of the warp space readings indicates a level of technological sophistication that no terran vessel currently possesses," the AI said, the usual monotone being laced with something…Annoyance? Frustration? Certainly a human characteristic that was rarely, if ever found in artificial intelligence.

"Your point being?" Collins drawled, putting his cap down over his eyes.

"My point is that it is unlikely that the Sons of Korhal could have access to such technology," the AI said in a tone that bordered on scathing. "In light of such-…"

"Let me ask you a question," said Collins. "The Sons of Korhal are already on this planet and would consider a science vessel a high profile target."

"Affirmative, sir," the AI stated.

"Then ask yourself this," Collins asked, pulling his cap down further and preparing to take forty winks. "If it wasn't Mengsk's merry men who took out that craft, then who was it?"

Neither man nor machine had an answer to that question.

* * *

**1753 hours, October 25, 2499 (SCT)**

**Antiga System, Antiga Prime**

**Sticklerville**

Sticklerville was inappropriately named.

It was this thought stream that had gone through 1st lieutenant Miranda Wilkes's mind when her platoon, specifically 5th platoon of Echo Company, Alpha Squadron 14th Division, had arrived on the outskirts of the small village, located on the edge of the mineral-rich Stickler Woods. A stickler was basically someone who was extremely fussy, usually in the conventions of grammar, and looking at the run down town, it was obviously that fussiness about anything was hard to come by. Not the most pressing fact to deal with given the current situation, but for Wilkes, it made a good distraction from reality.

Sitting on a wall with her C-14 gauss rifle propped up against it, helmet by her side, Wilkes looked out over the town, or rather what was left of it. Considering that half of the wooden buildings were on fire and half of the remainder damaged in some way or another, the 29 year old marine knew that if Sticklerville hadn't been inappropriately named before, it would definitely be so now. After all, when a communal town which mainly relied on subsistence agriculture suffered this level of damage, anyone who could be fussy about…well, anything was detached from reality.

_All in the name of justice of course, _the lieutenant reassured herself half-heartedly as she watched yet another building collapse due to the fire that had consumed it, Alpha Squadron marines in CMC-300 armor walking by calmly. She shook her head.

_Or not._

In truth, Wilkes wasn't that surprised, having come to the realization long ago that the Terran Confederacy was accepting to bear collateral damage in both life and property. Having grown up on Halcyon and realizing that a life of growing grapes and framberries wasn't for her, Wilkes had joined an Army OTU unit at the age of 27, deciding that even if she remained on the world, a difference could be made for the good of humanity. Ever since the supercarriers had arrived in the Koprulu Sector two centuries ago, a struggle had existed between humanity and the "New World," not to mention against himself, had existed. A struggle that Wilkes wanted to take part in. Not out of patriotism, but simply for the desire to do something that mattered.

From day one, Wilkes had suspected that her enthusiasm might have been misplaced. True, the Army was hardly the most elegant force, often being the hammer of the Terran Confederacy, but even so, did that necessarily mean that the requirements for graduation were based on the ability to simply lead troops into battle, screaming like a maniac, did it? Wilkes never found out, but considered it likely; after claiming that the policy of WHAM, or Winning Hearts And Minds of the people was the best method for the suppression of a belligerent population and becoming a laughing stock for a week. And in light of the destruction of Korhal IV and the lengths the Confederacy was willing to go to achieve its goals, the future commissioned officer suspected that maybe, just _maybe_, that she was out of place.

_No maybe about it, _Wilkes mused, watching light infantry from local forces douse out a fire, some old woman wailing nearby. In truth, Wilkes couldn't blame her. Having your house burnt down by armor-clad maniacs was hardly a pleasant experience, especially when at least half of said maniacs were neurally resocialised criminals, their minds having been altered to various extents in order that they serve the Confederacy and shoot their grandmothers on sight if ordered.

There'd been little to do on Halcyon, regardless of her line of work. Growing legal agricultural products had been the focus of most of her life, and dealing with those growing illegal substances and were too stupid to hide it over the last few years. There were more pressing issues to deal in the galaxy, issues that the Confederacy would not or could not confront, at least in the way that would have truly made a difference. In the end, depressed by the experience, Wilkes had begun to seriously consider applying for a discharge until an offer arrived a few months ago. An offer for a place in Alpha Squadron…

Wilkes had no idea how she had warranted such consideration but, not wanting to waste the opportunity, she didn't ask. The Squadrons were the Confederacy's elite forces and Alpha Squadron, namely the Advanced Tactical Strike Squadron under the command of Colonel Edmund Duke, was considered the "best of the best" and Wilkes saw no reason to refuse an offer to be among them. A few forms, farewells and a promotion to 1st lieutenant later, Wilkes was among the stars, anticipating an experience that the Army could never provide. Halcyon was a stable, prosperous planet, far removed from the challenges faced by the Fringe Worlds. Perhaps now, a real difference could be made. Even at the least, she could see the stars.

Reality could be a bitch sometimes.

One week ago, the Alpha Squadron 14th had been transferred to Antiga Prime, rumors of rebellion having reached the brass. Still a far-cry from full on revolt such as the one the Confederate Marine Corps had put down in Andasea City years ago, but the possibility hadn't been ruled out. Korhal had backfired spectacularly, further encouraging rebel and terrorist activity rather than dissuading it. In the end, it seemed best to nip such problems in the bud before they escalated into another nuclear holocaust. Beyond this reasoning however, Wilkes had been confused. Alpha Squadron, or the "Blood Hawks" as its members were commonly known, was a rapid strike force, its usual operations rarely featuring garrison duty. Still, she began to understand, considering that at noon, a platoon of light infantry had come under mortar fire from rebels in the Stickler Woods. With the brass theorizing that Sticklerville may be a base for the guerrilla fighters, Echo Company had been dispatched via APC within hours to deal with them, living up to its motto of "first in, first out."

Problem was, as far as Wilkes could tell, there'd been nothing to deal _with,_ apart from numerous children that could barely walk and old crones that had they been born on a world like Tarsonis, would be enjoying retirement, even with the Council's stingy allocation of pensions. There weren't too many from a middle generation for some reason, but Wilkes didn't take particular heed.

_Probably a mistake on my part, _she reflected bitterly, remembering what had occurred as the company had advanced. With marines waving guns and old folks and children shouting, the entire town had become akin to a powder keg. The fact that that the people claimed that there were no rebels or weapons didn't help matters either, nor was the prevalence of neurally resocialized soldiers. The combination of expectations of battle, the lack of battle and inability to enter civilized discussion had turned Sticklerville into a powder keg. One that had exploded spectacularly.

It was for this reason that the lieutenant was glad of the presence of the light infantry support units, Fisher having reasoned that they'd been needed in the mobile combat that would follow if the village turned out to be hostile. Less suited to combat of course, but considering that they could provide the 'human touch' to the inhabitants given that they didn't wear combat armor that made them look two feet taller than they really were, Wilkes was glad for their presence, although what difference they truly made overall was in question.

_Still, seems to be calming down at least, _the lieutenant thought, seeing that half of the blazes had been extinguished, the town's water faucets being harnessed by light infantry. _With any luck, we'll-…_

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

Wilkes spun to the source of the sound and soon found it. Two marines, one of them holding what looked like a hunting rifle, were facing down an old man, probably in his late 60s or early 70s Two small boys, neither of them older than five, stood next to him, staring out blankly at the town's destruction.

"What's an old geyser like you doing with a boom stick?" one of the marines leered, his counterpart holding the rifle out of the man's reach. "Bit advanced for you, don't ya think?"

"That rifle's been with my family for as long as I can remember! I-…"

"Which is what, ten years?" the other Alpha sneered, holding the rifle just out of the man's reach. "Must be hard to remember things at your age."

"I-…"

"Or maybe you're just lying. After all, given that you backwater hicks seem to be intent on playing Rambo recently, perhaps-…"

"That's enough!" Wilkes shouted, arriving at the scene, having put her helmet back on, covering her light brown hair. "What's the meaning of this!?"

"Take a hike toots."

A few seconds passed before Wilkes responded. With a single movement, she grabbed the rifle from the Marine's hand, pushing the man down in a standard CQC throw simultaneously. His companion took a step forward but found himself facing a slugthrower a second later.

"Few things you have to remember _private,_" Wilkes snarled. "Rule number one; you will address me as ma'am or lieutenant and nothing else. Rule number two, you will remember that assaulting a commissioned officer is a punishable offence and as such, will never even consider doing so. Rule number three, you will remember that as Confederate Marines, your duty is to protect its citizenry and not abuse it!" Her grey eyes narrowed; "Do I make myself clear!?"

"Absolutely," the decked Marine murmured, rising to his feet. "We beg your pardon, _ma'am_." With that, he and his counterpart stormed off, talking between themselves and un-slinging their gauss rifles.

_Trigger-happy arseholes, _Wilkes mused, their sarcasm as to her gender not going unnoticed. _I should have taken their names, ranks and serial numbers. _Reassuring herself that she'd remember to do so the next time such an incident occurred, the lieutenant turned back to face the Antigan.

"Sorry about that," said Wilkes awkwardly, trying to convey a reassuring smile and failing miserably. "I hope they didn't cause you too much hassle."

To Wilkes's slight surprise, the geyser hardly looked reassured and instead glared at her. Still, she realized that it was not entirely unexpected; not only was the question perhaps insensitive but, standing two feet taller than him due to her combat armor, the lieutenant was hardly the most reassuring figure.

"Whatever," the man grunted. "Can I have my rifle back?"

"Um, yes, about that," the lieutenant said awkwardly. "Those soldiers' conduct was unbecoming of the Confederate armed forces _(the man snorted at this but Wilkes continued) _but they did have a point."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. This area is a site of rebel activity and as such, possession of firearms is brought under scrutiny." Wilkes once again tried to smile reassuringly, this time succeeding to an extent. "I personally don't believe that you're a rebel, but in order to avoid confiscating this weapon, I'll have to see some identification."

"Identification?" the Antigan asked, his eyes narrowing. "Sure, I'd be happy to give you some identification-…"

"Great. Then-…"

"If your people hadn't just burnt my house down!"

Wilkes followed the man's sweeping gesture, seeing that it led to the smoldering remains of a homestead, no doubt due to some trigger happy firebat. The lieutenant felt her entire body go limp, her hands dropping down by her sides. She barely noticed the hunting rifle being snatched from her hands, nor did she care by the time she realized. She simply stood there as the Antigan stormed off, the two children toddling after him. Sighing, she turned back to face the house, or what was left of it.

"_A fitting epitaph to the twenty-fifth century," _Wilkes thought sadly. _"Or perhaps a herald to the twenty-sixth. Either's appropriate I guess. After all-…"_

"Tarsonis to L.T., are you receiving me?"

Once again Wilkes was caught unawares, spinning round to find the source of the voice. Unlike the marines however, she actually found the source welcome.

"Good to see you sergeant," Wilkes said, flashing a genuine smile at staff sergeant Robert Perry as he walked over. "I wish it could be under better circumstances."

Perry grunted. "You speak as if we hadn't seen each other in years, ma'am."

Wilkes didn't respond but still maintained her smile, glad of the man's presence. Perhaps a little _too _glad some might have argued, but considering that the dark skinned man and the staff sergeant of Wilkes' platoon was the only one who had gave her the time of day when it came to leading a force, it was perhaps understandable. The grunts of Alpha Squadron hadn't exactly welcomed her into their ranks, courtesy of a combination of gender and the extent of her experience, or rather the lack of it. Perry had been the only exception to that rule, an exception that Wilkes had been most grateful for.

Perry gave a salute, which Wilkes promptly returned. "The situation's under control in our platoon's sector ma'am," the sergeant said curtly, the process coming naturally to him. "We had a few rowdy civvies' but we kept them in line."

"Nothing too drastic I hope?" Wilkes asked, sounding tenser than she intended.

Perry shrugged. "Depends on your definition of 'drastic.' Nothing lethal though, if that's what you mean."

The lieutenant grunted, turning back to face the smoldering ruins of the old Antigan's house. "We should be grateful for that I guess," she said softly, feeling cold despite her suit's temperature regulators. "We've done enough damage as it is."

Perry chuckled. "Don't tell me you're already reaching the melodramatic stage, Wilksy? It's a bit early in your career for that don't you think?"

Miranda remained silent, reflecting that if anyone had called her "Wilksy" apart from Perry, whether they be inside or outside the military, they wouldn't last five minutes before receiving severe bodily harm. While "Miranda" was tolerable, Wilkes preferred to be addressed by her surname in informal circumstances. Anything apart from these was taboo, Wilkes considering Perry the only exception to the rule.

Of course, even if the lieutenant_ had _a problem with Perry's occasional use of such terms, or anything else for that matter, she doubted that there was much she could have done about it. He was the kind of person whose presence demanded respect, someone who could silence a rowdy bunch of soldiers without even speaking. True, his physical appearance contributed greatly to this ability, what with short black hair that fit regulation length perfectly, the fact that he was a whole head taller than her, numerous scars that criss-crossed his face, each of them seemingly with its own story to tell… His eyes were the most striking however, considering that the left was an icy light blue, the right being an ocular implant, its baleful red orb staring out into the world around him.

Even the most clueless person had enough sense not to ask how _that_ happened.

Still, even without these features, Wilkes had no doubt that he'd have the same effect, that if not for Perry's presence, she'd hardly be able to organize her platoon, let alone lead it. She'd already expressed surprise that Perry hadn't tried out for the rank of a commissioned officer, the sergeant always maintaining that he wanted nothing to do with a commissioned rank whatsoever. By becoming a CO he was liable to be promoted to a place off the battlefield, calling the shots while others did his fighting for him. He was happy with his current position and while Wilkes wanted to learn more, she chose not to press the issue, appreciating the aid he gave her in leading a unit. Perry may not have exactly been a Ferdinand to her, but he was certainly a Prospero.

_Shame that no-one here would understand that metaphor…_

"Lieutenant?" asked Perry, having not received an answer for his earlier question.

"Hmm, pardon?" Wilkes asked, Perry snapping her out of her recollections.

The sergeant sighed. "Lieutenant, we're in the middle of a war zone here. It's bad enough that I've got to-…"

"War zone?" snorted Wilkes, her indignation overriding the caution she usually treated her staff sergeant with. "That's a bit much, isn't it?"

"Indeed?" asked Perry softly, both of his eyes narrowing. It was obvious that he didn't agree with his superior.

Wilkes nodded. Of course it is. Attacking a defenseless village that _may _have had rebels with full force is a bit much isn't it?"

Perry shrugged. "The civilians were a potential threat. It's our job to…_What_?" he asked, seeing that Wilkes was staring at him.

"Perry, listen to yourself…"

"It's not my job to listen to myself, it's my job to listen to those above me," said Perry simply. "And for better or worse Wilksy, you're one of those people."

Silence descended upon the two officers, the sounds of a collapsing building and shouts in the background washing over them. It wasn't until what felt like an eternity that the silence was interrupted, courtesy of a beeping in Wilkes' helmet. Someone was broadcasting on the comm. channels.

"Just a sec," Wilkes murmured, establishing a link. It wasn't long before the voice of Captain Fisher, Echo Company's Commanding Officer, was heard.

"Platoon commanders, this is Captain Fisher. Report to APCs immediately for immediate return to company barracks for reassignment. More info will be given at your destination, over."

With that he signed off, presumably awaiting his counterparts to do the same. Wilkes however, kept the link open, knowing that, assuming that Fisher had his visor down, his heads-up display would show that she'd kept the link open. It certainly seemed to be the case.

"Something you'd like to add to this Wilkes?"

"Err, yes sir," said the lieutenant uneasily, glad that she didn't actually have to press her query directly. "You want us to do _what_, exactly?"

"You didn't hear the first time lieutenant?" the captain asked coolly. "Something wrong with your comm. system?"

"No sir, it's working fine," Wilkes answered. "But seriously, how can we withdraw now? The people here need our help! We can't just-…"

"We can and we will," Fisher said firmly. "We'll leave the cleanup to the light infantry units. It's all they're good for after all."

"But sir-…"

"Listen lieutenant, this is how the Blood Hawks do things," Fisher snarled, his voice making it clear that he considered the conversation closed. "First in, first out, that's our motto. I expect you to live up to it."

With that, he signed off.

Wilkes sighed, closing the link on her end as well, ignoring the screams of some kid in the background. _I didn't sign up for this, _she thought sadly, looking around at the damage around her. _To think I actually thought that… _She trailed off, seeing that Perry was smirking at her. "What?" she asked.

"You've been in the armed forces for _how _long, exactly?" the staff sergeant asked.

"Roughly two years," said Wilkes simply. "Why?"

Perry raised an eyebrow. "Odd. I would have thought you would have grown out of idealism by now."

"Idealism?" "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you'd have come to accept that this kind of service is a profession that lets you see the worst that humanity has to offer, a profession that leads you commit acts you'd never consider otherwise." The sergeant's eyes bore into those of his superior.

"I refuse to believe that," said Wilkes indignantly, her grey eyes meeting Perry's. "I still have hope that-…"

"**BAM!"**

Both marines spun around in shock to the gunshot, raising their gauss rifles. They were unsure as to where it originated from, but considering that many of their fellow marines and light infantry were running for a single location, they guessed that was where it originated from. Wordlessly, they followed them, finding the scene that had drawn everyone's attention…

A scene that made Wilkes want to break down and cry.

She had no idea how it had happened, how a young girl of less than ten was lying on the ground with a gaping hole in her chest, her glazed eyes staring lifelessly into the sky. She had no idea why the marine standing over the child and her weeping mother was holding a Torrent SR-8 shotgun, why he had either deliberately propelled a high impact adamantine slug into the child's chest at point blank range or had done so accidentally. She had no idea what to do when the weeping mother met her eyes, the silver bar on Wilkes' right shoulder pad indicating her authority. Or rather the lack of it…

The setting sun cast flickering light on the Alphas' white armor, the Antiga System's gas giant casting a baleful red glow. The soldiers, half of them former criminals, looked to Wilkes for direction, knowing that this was too far even by their standards. To her shame, Wilkes couldn't provide it, subconsciously lowering her visor as if to shield herself from the sun's judgment, to evade the gaze of those around her, to hide the tears welling in her eyes. After all, this was_ her_ platoon. _Her_ responsibility.

Wilkes didn't know how long she stood there, only snapping out of it when Perry laid a hand on her shoulder. She turned around slowly, Perry's cybernetic eye glowing, as if acting as a gateway to Hell, judgment having been made…

"Welcome to reality lieutenant. Get used to it."

* * *

The invasion had begun.

The creature of perfection's heralds drifted down towards the planet's surface, undetectable by the primitive instruments of those who dwelt on it. Like a tree, these seeds would grow from something insignificant to something grand…

A grand design for domination.

A grand design to achieve its rightful place in the cosmic order.

A grand design that would begin with the conquest of the world known as Chau Sara…

…and all who dwelt on it.

* * *

_A/N_

_This chapter gave me problems from the outset, specifically the latter part of it. I managed to scale things down on the re-run, but it still came out a bit too melodramatic for my liking. Still, the events are/were necessary for how the story progresses (or progress_ed _as it was) in the next chapter and despite my misgivings, I decided that the generalities should remain the same. _

_Another issue I think is worth adressing is the nature of Adjutants, how I portrayed the AI as purely software, rather than possessing the hardware displayed in its avatar frame in-game. For the most part, I've always assumed Adjutants to be software systems akin to the EVAs from _Command and Conquer_, and that their in-game representation was simply fulfilling the need to have a profile box filled. Arguably, this could also be their holographic representation. Displaying an emotionless cyborg 'thing' would prevent their human users from developing any emotional attatchments._

_As someone pointed out recently on the wiki however, the Adjutant can be seen flipping its humanoid face in its _StarCraft II _profile, suggesting that it is in fact a piece of hardware rather than software. Given the wires we see attatched to the Adjutant when it contacts Raynor on Mar Sara, this is a valid theory. However, I still go with the theory that they're pure software, in that terran technology is known to be sophisticated enough to create at least semi-sentient AIs in the form of the AAIs seen on the streets of Tarsonis City, other AIs being sophisticated enough to be able to co-ordinate weapon systems. Of course, we don't know whether these AIs are purely digital and the existance of servo servants demonstrated that 25th century technology is sophisticated enough to create androids with a degree of intelligence. However, as Mengsk calls a presumed Adjutant "computer" in _Uprising_, I think that despite their representation, Adjutants are pure software._

_Anyway, that's just me. I'm open to discussion._


	3. Home and Away

"_It's no secret that volunteers for the Confederate Armed Forces are few, hence the prevalence of neural resocialization. Not that this prevents the Confederacy from trying however, the numerous recruitment vids and pieces of propaganda we see every day on the holos being testament to this. What the Confederacy fails to realize however, is that its average citizen is smarter than they think. We know what such a job description entails. Orders are given that make no sense, your morals are compromised and in the end, you become something different. Something that you didn't set out to be."_

"_Something akin to the neurally resocialized criminals you fight beside…"_

Charles Goto, Confederate Marine Corps (retired)

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 3: Home and Away**

**2029 hours, October 25, 2499 (SCT)**

**Antiga System, Antiga Prime**

**Alpha Squadron 14th, Echo Company command center**

"Oh my god those tears are fake but Jesus Christ, those tits are _rea_l!"

"Take it off! TAKE IT OFF!"

Glancing with contempt at the two desk jockeys that were watching some soap, Staff Sergeant Robert Perry couldn't help but shift his gaze towards the holo displaying some curve with only her underclothing on. It was hard to tell what was being said exactly, but from what he could gather, it revolved around something about whose child the curve was carrying, the issue apparently being enough to bring the bimbo to tears. Precisely what she was doing without most of her clothing off was a mystery but still, not only had Perry walked in during the last few minutes of the episode, but it was a soap. It didn't have to make sense.

_Glad to see that we didn't lose the finer aspects of human culture when we left Earth, _the marine thought to himself, adjusting the belt of his regulation khaki and walking onwards to the briefing room. Usually the desk jockeys would have made him go through the usual red tape but considering that they were ogling over some woman's breasts, their failure to act like arseholes rather than let it come naturally was understandable.

"_Next week on All our Children, the unthinkable will happen…"_

_Like what? They might develop an original plot? _Perry wondered, arriving at the door to the briefing room and allowing the usual retinal scan. Not that the dark skinned, cybernetic eyed marine knew all that much about soaps or whatever other crap Confederate media put to air (alright, perhaps _Dark Masters _on the Galactic Entertainment Network wasn't _too _bad). As far as visual media went, he'd generally limited himself to VR games in the arcades back on Brontes IV, all of them first person shooters. The sergeant smirked as the scanner's beam headed upwards. As effective as his military training had been, he couldn't deny that the video games he'd played in his childhood had been instrumental, especially since-…

"_Someone. Will. _Die_."_

Perry spun around, the scan having only just been completed. He regretted it a second later, realizing that it had come from the holo, the declaration having sent the desk jockeys into some kind of chant reminiscent to the type featured in a professional padball game.

_Wouldn't it be better if they just killed off the cast as a whole? _the sergeant wondered. He shook his head. He had better things to do than reflect on the lowest common denominator of televised media, his priorities instead being to walk into the briefing room…

…and meeting Captain Hugh Fisher's icy glare.

Crap.

"Not only did I ask for first lieutenant Miranda Wilkes but I expected said lieutenant to be here fifteen minutes ago," the grey haired, grey eyed commissioned officer drawled, leaning back against his chair and putting his feet on the desk situated at the other end of the room. "Shall I berate you for being in error on both these counts? Or shall I believe that you are indeed Miss Wilkes and have undergone a change of gender?"

Sniggers, snorts and various other expressions of amusement rippled from Fisher's lieutenants, half of them sounding forced. Perry scowled, looking over the captain's lapdogs, numerous murderous fantasies rolling through his head. Managing to put them on the backburner he shifted his gaze to the object of his distaste

"It's the first option sir," Perry murmured. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Someone in the room let out a hoot, although Fisher didn't seem to notice, his gaze still locked into that of his subordinate. "I'll ignore that remark marine, and simply get to asking why you're here instead of your commanding officer.

Perry swallowed uneasily. It was an obvious question that Fisher was asking and one that he had every right to. Unfortunately that did little to settle his stomach. He didn't put it past that stagnant minded arsehole to exploit his authority and act like more of a prick than he really was.

"Lieutenant Wilkes is unavailable at this time sir," Perry murmured diplomatically. "She asked me to-…"

"_Unavailable?" _Fisher interrupted, his voice akin to that of an ursadon asking its prey why it shouldn't eat it. "I gave my lieutenants an hour's notice upon arriving back at HQ that there was a briefing scheduled for twenty fifteen hours." He leaned forward on his desk, his eyes narrowing. "Pray tell me, how can someone need more than one hour to prepare themselves?"

More sniggers rippled through the lieutenants gathered, Perry fuming in that it was directed towards him rather than the person who should actually be here. _What the hell did I do to deserve this? _the sergeant wondered. _Why the hell did I agree to-…?_

"Perry?"

"Lieutenant Wilkes has made herself unavailable at this time due to a need to recover from the combat operation against Sticklerville. Due to extreme circumstances in the field, Lieutenant Wilkes has requested that I fill in for her, passing any and all relevant information on to her at what is deemed an appropriate time, sir."

Perry finished speaking, his years of kissing arse back in basic suddenly coming back to him, much to his surprise and disgust. Judging by the look on Fisher's face he was clearly as surprised as Perry was, that perhaps the most volatile staff sergeant in Echo Company had actually toed the line for once. Somewhat ironically, his lieutenants instantly began crossing it.

"Extreme circumstances?" asked Lieutenant Craven, the dark haired, pasty skinned 'resoc' "How does fragging a few civvies come under the definition of extreme circumstances?"

_Because we're not all psychopaths like you, _Perry thought, remembering that the lieutenant was a neutrally resocialized former convict, a process brought on by fifteen confirmed acts of manslaughter and eight suspected ones. Exactly how such a person could reach such a position was a mystery to the staff sergeant but then again, members of Alpha Squadron weren't called the "Blood Hawks" for nothing.

"Alright Perry, I'll take your word for it," said Fisher eventually, ignoring Craven's outburst. "You best fill in."

Flexing his fingers Perry walked forward, taking note of those gathered-men with one foot in their grave, their eyes bound with too much red tape to see it. It was such a desire to keep his eyes, organic and cybernetic, free of such bonding that had stopped Perry from ever pursuing the same authority that his comrades in the room wielded. Looking back, he was surprised that he'd got away with it. Having played with guns and other weapons all his life on Brontes, both real and fake, it came as little surprise to many that he would enlist in the Marine Corps at the age of nineteen. Generally excelling in whatever tasks the Confeds threw at him, the Brontean had risen to the rank of corporal by the beginning of the Guild Wars in 2485, tensions between the Confederacy and the world of Moria having reached breaking point. Even now, a decade after the war had ended, Perry still enjoyed looking back on his experiences, experiences which gave him the rank of sergeant and a place in Alpha Squadron. After all, it was in the four year war that Perry learnt two valuable lessons…

Lesson 1: Life was cheap.

Morbid to be sure, but undeniably true. If life was a glorious thing that was endowed by some higher power, it wouldn't have been so easy to blast Morians with 8mm armor piercing spikes from his C-14 gauss rifle. If life was a great gift, he would have been perhaps less willing to slit the throat of the Morian slike who blasted his right eye out with a T10 pistol, prompting the implantation of an ocular implant. If life was something that every human being should treasure, then Perry wouldn't have felt so disappointed when the Confederacy 'negotiated' peace with its sister world.

It was partly in reflection of the last aspect of the "life is cheap" lesson that led Perry to come across the second undeniable fact…that red tape led to strangulation. Such a fact didn't come blasting out of the Morian sands in the same way that the first lesson did, but upon reflection, Perry had seen the truth in it. No-one in the Confederacy had taken the initiative in that war as far as he could tell, having assumed their seizing of "illegal" Morian mining operations could go on indefinatly. Its power eclipsing the might of Moria and Umoja combined, victory had pretty much been guaranteed from the outset. With that knowledge however, the Council had seemed uninterested in making sure that victory would come sooner rather than later.

Upon entering Alpha Squadron, Perry had sworn to himself that he would never let red tape strangle him like those he had followed into battle anymore than he had strangled that Morian sharpshooter who incapacitated half of his squad before being found. Looking around the briefing room, Perry could not help but feel validated by that, the lieutenants of Echo Company looking up at Fisher blankly, waiting for the prick to begin spilling out whatever he'd summoned them for.

_At least Craven has an excuse, _the NCO reflected as he passed Craven, the former serial killer looking at Fisher with a glazed expression that Perry guessed was reminiscent of the ones he gave his victims in his former life. As for the rest of them, they had simply fallen to monotony, backed by the lights dimming as soon as the staff sergeant reached his seat, Fisher launching into lecture mode. A hologram showing two small planets orbiting a sun was displayed.

"This is the Sara System," said Fisher, basically stating exactly what the text next to the hologram displayed. "Located in the Fringe Worlds on the edge of Confederate space, the only unique feature of the system is that it has two worlds capable of sustaining life."

"Get to the point capy."

Perry smirked as Fisher gave his lieutenants a stare that would have made a plant wither and die on the spot. Surprised that one of the COs here had a backbone but disappointed that the matter wasn't taken further he continued listening to the captain's lecture.

"Chau Sara and Mar Sara," Fisher continued, gesturing to the two planets respectively. "A somewhat rare set of planets in that not only are they both habitable, but both within roughly the same orbital path." He pressed a button on a remote in his hands and the hologram zoomed in to the smaller of the two worlds. "It is only Chau Sara, however, that has our interest in this matter."

Perry remained silent. He knew the history of the Sara System, how the two worlds had been catalogued by Confederate freelancers decades ago and settled before the Guild Wars. Although somewhat backwater, the two planets were both Core Worlds of the Confederacy, courtesy of their extensive mineral deposits. Mar Sara had always been overshadowed by its more prosperous twin Chau Sara however, even if it had started out as a penal colony. Still, it mattered little. Terrans had been meant to land on Gantris VI as a penal colony after all before ATLAS had conveniently shut down. What was wrong with carrying on tradition?

"Chau Sara," Fisher declared, shining a laser onto the hologram. "With a population of 400,000, it features the same hard baked mud and scrub as its larger twin, although has some jungles in its equatorial regions. It is recent events, however, that have our attention." He cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, it is known that Chau Sara is the current base of operations for the Sons of Korhal."

A murmur rustled through the room. The Sons of Korhal…Arcturus Mengsk's band of butchers that had risen from the nuclear fires of their homeworld. Responsible for the attack on the environmental plant on Vyctor 5, the assault on the Ghost Academy on Tarsonis and numerous other acts of terrorism, the SOK was generally regarded as the most significant rebel threat to the Terran Confederacy. Operating all across Confederate space and probably outside it also given that the Umojan Protectorate was believed to sponsor them, Mengsk's band of butchers could strike anywhere, anytime.

They'd proved it often enough.

"Based on the available data, we believe that the SOK began operations in August," Fisher drawled, probably not knowing or caring that it was only now that he had the full attention of everyone in the room. "Nothing major, certainly nothing to warrant the dispatch of a proper military force." He swept his gaze over them. "Mengsk is a clever bastard. He keeps his forces operating in small but cohesive units. Guerrilla operations, but with conventional fighting."

Perry found himself nodding in agreement. You weren't spineless if you had the guts to attack the capital of the Confederacy after all.

"High Command stepped up the threat index in mid-September, dispatching the _Norad II _and a few extra Colonial Fleet ships to patrol the space in and around the system," Fisher continued. "Nothing worth reporting though. Although Korhalian activity increased on Chau Sara in October, there was nothing to suggest that we were dealing with anything serious. Two days ago however…"

Fisher drifted off, pressing another button. The star map disappeared, replaced with an image of what Perry recognized as an _Explorer_-class science vessel.

"This is the _Vigilance_," said the captain. "Part of Epsilon Squadron, it was assigned to patrol the outer reaches of the Sara System. On October 21st, 2334 hours, Standard Colonial Time, the _Vigilance_ reported a massive warp space overlay not far from their position. Not long after this, all contact was lost." He pressed another button, the image changing again. "This, gentlemen, is what was observed in the aftermath."

There were few things that made Perry's stomach turn, the marine having seen plenty of death over his career, half of it by his own hands. However, the sight of the remains of the _Vigilance _floating in space, along with numerous bodies…well, it was something new at least. Something horrible. Clenching his fist, Perry whispered a silent combination of prayer and curse, directed to the crew of the science vessel and Mengsk's band of butchers respectively.

"In the case that you can't comprehend the significance of this, I'm going to explain what has become obvious," drawled Fisher, switching off the hologram and returning light to the room. "The Sons of Korhal force has attacked and destroyed a Confederate vessel. Given the warp space overlay, they must have capital ships in the area. By _definition_, this means that the SOK force on Chau Sara is no minor threat. By _default_, this means that the threat index level has risen high enough to convince Magistrate Collins that his militia is a band of incompetent boobs and that only Alpha Squadron is capable of saving his sorry arse." Fisher grinned, somehow becoming even uglier as he did so. "Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to inform you that it is Echo Company which has been given the honor of kicking rebels up their rear!"

"Hoo rah!" the lieutenants shouted, all of them claiming what they would do once they found the Sons of Korhal and numerous other things that were beyond the ability of any human. Perry was the only exception, simply raising a hand in a distinctly non-jubilant way.

"Um, permission to speak freely sir?"

Fisher sighed, a faint twitch in his forehead indicating frustration at the interruption to the pervading mood. "I know I'm going to regret this sergeant, but go ahead."

"Sir, why only Echo Company?" asked Perry, rising to his feet. "What about the rest of the Division?"

"Staying behind on Antiga Prime to deal with the rebels," Fisher said casually. "Why? Feel sorry for them?"

"Not as much as I do for us…" said the staff sergeant softly.

The effect was instantaneous, silence descending upon the room in a second. All eyes turned to Perry, the marine only returning to favor to Fisher.

"Something wrong, _sergeant_?" whispered Fisher, the emphasis on rank not going unnoticed.

"Yes, there is," Perry answered calmly, his eyes, both organic and cybernetic, boring into his superior. "I'd like to question the sanity of sending only a single Company to deal with what appears to be a fully equipped Sons of Korhal force."

"We're the Blood Hawks," said Fisher simply, waving his hand idly. "We strike like lightning. A single Company is more than enough to deal with whatever poorly equipped and ill disciplined soldiers that Mengsk has."

"They've stuck it to Colonel Duke more than once," Perry pointed out.

Fisher snorted. "What, you think that was accomplished by Mengsk's skill? You know as well as I do that Duke only got his position through his Old Family status."

"I know," murmured Perry. "Same as you did probably…"

With that, Perry walked out, relishing the stunned silence. With a hiss the door closed, blocking out any shouts of outrage that may have followed him.

In truth Perry would have liked to stick it to Fisher even further, but he knew that there was only so far he could go without risking discharge, not to mention that Fisher didn't have the distinction of being an Old Family member. The captain respected him, knowing that Perry was a more competent leader of 5th platoon than Wilkes could ever be, but even so, the captain placed his authority above whatever Perry could provide.

Unfortunately, authority was leading to naivety at best and idiocy at worst. Damit, Fisher was an arrogant twat who should have retired years ago, but he was at least a competent commander. But surely he could see how unorthodox this set up was. A single Company of roughly 200 men, divided into 5 platoons of 40 soldiers each, being separated from the rest of its Division to engage a fully equipped rebel force whose location was not exactly known…Alpha Squadron was the best of the best, but even so…

And why rely on Echo Company anyway? Not only was the _Norad II _far closer to Chau Sara than their unit was but it also had a similar amount of soldiers and Duke himself onboard. True, doubts had been raised about the colonel's competence, especially in his failure to recapture Ghost Agent 24 after her defection to the Sons of Korhal, but he still had the Council's backing along with past victories to his credit. Why not send him to deal with the rebels? True, Perry had heard that there was apparently some big shot reporter onboard the ship from UNN which could have mixed things up, but would that have really made such a difference? If anything it would probably prove more beneficial, a victory over the SOK providing the Confederacy with vital propaganda material.

Perry shook his head. He had nothing against being dispatched to Chau Sara to deal with terrorists, far from it. But something about this situation reeked and as someone who sought to evade red tape, he despised that. Sighing he cast his mind back to the show the desk jockeys had been watching, the one with the pregnant curve…the one who'd been screwed at some point.

Screwed over…exactly the same way he felt.

* * *

**0212 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Gilneas outskirts**

Gilneas was a dump.

Alright, perhaps that was a bit harsh, but somehow, Miranda Wilkes had expected something more when it had been announced yesterday that they were touching down on the outskirts of one of Chau Sara's major cities. Unfortunately, a "major" city on a Fringe World pretty much translated to "backwater" by the standards of a more developed world such as Halcyon. Consisting of about thirty buildings, all of them drab, Gilneas was a typical Fringe World city, an isolated urban centre in an inhospitable environment.

Wilkes sighed, looking up at the early morning sky, the light of the stars and moon reflecting off her white armor. Here she was, on the edge of Confederate space, far removed from civilization. It felt…eerie somehow.

She shook her head. _Get over it Wilksy,_ she thought, Perry's nickname having stuck. _You're here to do a job, one which comes from Confederate High Command itself._ A faint breeze washed over her, causing her hair to blow over her eyes. It was tempting to put on her helmet but protocol dictated that it should only be worn in combat situations in order to preserve the armor's power supplies. Even if it wasn't, she couldn't have been bothered. Warp travel was often exhausting and in her mind, a single day was not nearly enough to acclimatize to a different planet.

"You alright ma'am?" came a voice, Wilkes turning to see Perry standing beside her, his implant providing illumination in the darkness.

"Pardon?" asked Wilkes.

"I asked if you're alright," Perry repeated. "You seemed…distant."

"And there's something wrong with that?"

Perry remained silent, something that Wilkes had become accustomed to over the past two weeks. Truth be told, she had been distant, and she knew it. The events in Sticklerville…an innocent child had died on her watch and she knew that she was indirectly responsible. She couldn't face Fisher in the briefing, she just _couldn't_, thus relying on Perry to get the info for her. Alpha Squadron may have been known as the Blood Hawks, but innocent blood was on her hands and she felt sickened by it.

The child's glassy eyes…

The weeping mother…

Her troops looking to her for direction…

Wilkes shook her head. Chau Sara would be different. The Sons of Korhal were here, a rebel group that stemmed from the nuking of their homeworld, seeking to bring down the Confederacy and avenge the 35 million lives lost on that fateful day over a year ago. The Confederacy was far from innocent, but the notion of Mengsk matching the death count in the name of justice…it made her stomach turn. Chau Sara would be a turning point in stemming the loss of innocent life. Of that, she was-…

"Ma'am?"

Wilkes turned to Perry again, who pointed to something behind her. Spinning around she saw a young teenage marine holding out a data slate.

"Yes?" asked the lieutenant.

"Orders from Captain Fisher," the kid said, giving a salute which Wilkes returned before receiving the data slate. "He's sent a copy of the magistrate's briefing to the platoon commanders, along with his battle plan."

"Very well. Move out private," said Wilkes. Pressing the button a hologram of Magistrate Collins appeared, uniform and moustache clear to see.

"Good day captain," the magistrate drawled, his voice laced with the arrogance that came with high standing. "It appears you've arrived just in time. As you know, the renegades who call themselves the Sons of Korhal have been working for months to undermine Confederate authority in the fringe colonies."

"What authority?" Wilkes murmured bitterly. Hell, if the Confederacy had maintained any sense of authority in the outer colonies, they wouldn't have had to be dispatched to Antiga Prime, let alone Chau Sara.

"Well, they're on Chau Sara now, and I'd like to take care of them without involving the local militia," Collins continued. "That's where your Alpha Squadron boys come in." His visage, while laid back previously, suddenly became hard, emotionless… "There are to be _no arrests_, captain. I hope you understand what I mean. I want this problem solved _once and for all_."

With that the image faded, replaced by a hologram of a map of the area around Gilneas. Various arrows weaved through the valleys southeast of the city, detailing the route of each platoon. In the end, each was to converge on the Arathi Basin, where it was believed the Sons of Korhal base was located.

Wilkes was barely paying attention, turning back to Perry. "No prisoners?" she whispered. "Is the magistrate insane?"

"Insane?" Perry asked, genuine surprise on his features. "Didn't you hear him? The SOK's been here for months, striking at targets both military and civilian. Such measures are called for."

"What, inflicting mass slaughter!?" Wilkes exclaimed. "How does that make us any better than-…"

"Listen to me _Wilksy_," Perry snarled, grasping her shoulders. "There's only one high ground that we have to worry about in this operation and it isn't that of the moral kind. We're here to do a job and do it well, simple as that. Either _you_ lead your men into combat or I'll do it for you."

The staff sergeant gestured to the marines milling about, their movement prompted by restlessness rather than the low temperatures, their suits' temperature settings functioning properly. Sooner or later, through the rigors of combat, their restlessness would be absent also…

Wilkes sighed. "Brief the men sergeant. We're moving out."

Perry saluted mockingly. "Yes ma'am. Glad to see you're finally facing reality."

If not for the darkness one could have seen Miranda Wilkes scowl at her second-in-command, his words not being wasted on her. Facing reality…exactly what he had told her to do back in Sticklerville.

_And that's what I'm doing, _she thought sadly, slinging her gauss rifle over her shoulder and tightening her belt, her equipment covering grenades, extra clips and a slugthrower sidearm. Gazing up at the stars she wondered what was going on Halcyon right now, wondering if her family could possibly understand the moral dilemma she faced via her mission parameters. Carry out justice by mass slaughter. Prevent mass slaughter by being equal amoral.

With a hiss her helmet fastened into place, pulling her visor down to offer protection from the wind. Turning on her suit's illuminators, she spoke into her radio, knowing that she was shaking hands with the devil…with his sense of _justice_.

"Fifth platoon, follow my lead. We're moving out."

Space.

It was a void empty of life. A blackness of emotionless. A dark shroud that covered the universe, punctuated only by the light of stars that were doomed to die. Light may have shone for now, but a time would come where stygian night never ended, where planets drifted like barren islands on an ocean of death. Such was the fate of the universe. The light of stars, of hope, could not go indefinitely.

But something else was illuminating the darkness…a gateway of purple energy. An overlay of warp space and real space. A herald for an _Explorer-_class science vessel to materialize out of the nothingness. Had it come to cry out against the fate of darkness? Perhaps. But if so this wasn't its only reason for being here, given that two dropships were dispatched from its hangers, heading towards the world of Chau Sara.

Like the science vessel these craft were unmarked. No heraldry went with them, no flamboyant symbols of arrival being present any more than transmissions to Chau Sara's space stations as to their purpose. With singular purpose the two dropships flew down to the barren planet, their destination and mission objective locked into their navigation systems.

Planet: Chau Sara.

Location: Arathi Basin.

Objective: Extermination.

* * *

_A/N_

_Although the sign of good writing is being in the position to not have to explain its aspects, there's a few issues I'd like to point out._

_-A minor change from the original version is that I've changed my interpretation of SCT from "Standard Confederate Time" to "Standard Colonial Time." Minor, I know, but it doesn't help that Blizzard has never explained what the acronymn actually stands for and as far as I can tell, it could stand for either of the two. However, I personally bet that "colonial time" is more likely, as a standard time would be required for the administration of its colonies specifically rather than the Confederacy itself. After all, Tarsonis had a series of colonies before the Confederacy was declared as the new form of goverment. Presumably this was driven by necessity, its territory a "Confederation" of Tarsonis and its worlds, hence the existance of the senate. Of course, whether the standard time uses Earth's 24 hour day or Tarsonis' 27 hour day is another matter..._

_-Yes, Gilneas and Arathi Basin are from _Warcraft_. How could you tell?_

_I considered changing the names in this redone version, but decided to keep them, as there was no utilitarian reason to change them. After all, _StarCraft _and _Warcraft _(and _Diablo _for that matter) reference their counterpart universes extensively, often sharing names or variants of them. As such, I decided to 'keep in character.' Nothing major, so don't worry-no Medivh or the Prime Evils :)_


	4. Strongarm

"_Angus, we all know that the Confederacy rules with an iron fist, enforcing its will upon Korhal in a manner that is excessive. But this is a status quo mirrored on every one of its colonies and the fact remains that Korhal is still a prosperous world, regardless of its affiliation. But now, right in the aftermath of the Guild Wars, you want to start up another conflict based on ideology? Forget it Angus. It's not worth causing more pain and suffering based on the supposed right of each colony to assert independence. After all, t__he universe is a big place senator, and sooner or later, humanity will have to stand united, like it did when we first arrived in this sector. Sooner or later a threat will present itself that requires us to stand or fall together. And even if you don't believe me, keep this in mind when you return home…"_

"_Innocents die in wars Angus. And you should not have started this one."_

Senator Cynthia Davies in frank discussion with Senator Angus Mengsk, just prior to the declaration of Korhal IV's independence

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 4: Strongarm**

**0313 hours** **November 8, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Sons of Korhal Base, Arathi Basin**

Grizzly hated Chau Sara.

Such a fact would not come as a surprise to many. Chau Sara was nowhere's proverbial middle and the Sons of Korhal were stuck right in the centre of it. Hell, it wasn't even the SOK proper that was here, just some small force that Mengsk had dumped on the world for no apparent reason.

_What the hell is the old geyser thinking? _Grizzly wondered, so nicknamed as he took after the appearance and muscle structure of a bear of the same name that lived on Old Earth. _We're the Sons of Korhal! We should be putting the Old Families' heads on pikes and butchering the Council, not twiddling our thumbs on some backwater planet!_

It was such goals that the private lived for, uncaring of Mengsk's ideology of establishing a more fair and democratic system of government in place of the near fascist Terran Confederacy. As long as he got to get his hands dirty and/or bloody (preferably both) on a regular basis, he was satisfied. Stuck on Chau Sara however, in a base that was poorly manned and equipped however, that didn't look set to happen.

Continuing his patrol of the perimeter, Grizzly looked up at the early morning sky. Not really to remark at the galaxy's supposed beauty, but simply to fantasize about that which was out of his reach. True, setting off bombs and in Los Andares was fine and dandy, but there were bigger, better things out there to destroy, ranging from Tarsonis itself to the space stations of the Sara System. True, the observation satellites couldn't provide much fun, but still, the science vessel that belonged to Epsilon Squadron could provide an alternative…

Shaking his head, the guard returned to reality. The SOK forces here didn't even have air support, let alone space fighters. Taking out a space station, even a defenseless one, was something that just wasn't going to happen. After all…

Grizzly's train of thought slowed down along with his pace. He slowly looked around. He was on the edge of the basin, the darkness being absolute here as the sun was yet to rise. Yet there was something…strange about it. It felt different, unnatural…As if he was being watched…

Slowly, the man unslung his submachine gun, undoing the safety even slower. There was nothing to fear really, and he knew it. After all, the Arathi Basin was an excellent defensive position. The only way in by ground was a series of canyons that offered no cover, allowing forward scouts to identify any incoming hostile force. Insertion from the air was certainly a possibility, but despite the relatively poor level of equipment, the SOK force had enough AA guns to mount an effective defense against any would-be attacker. Besides, knowing Confederate tactics, they'd come in guns blazing, destroying anything and everything. In short, they'd provide a warning of their arrival themselves. Suffice to say, that had not happened.

There was nothing to fear, Grizzly kept reminding himself. However, the fear remained. Not a conventional fear, but rather, a fear of the unknown, of what lay in the darkness. Of that strange, 'chittering' sound that kept repeating. It sounded like some kind of middle-ground between grasshoppers and cicadas, yet was also…well, _alien_.

Slowly, the soldier moved further to one of the basin entrances, firearm at the ready. Bravery was the confronting of fear rather than the absence of it and Grizzly was no coward. He didn't care that the chittering was getting louder. He didn't care that every one of instincts yelled at him to head back. He didn't care that if there _was _something to fear and that he may be walking into a place worse than hell. He…well, he didn't care about much right now, only the faint hope that he'd be able to use his SMG for something other than target practice and preventing his fear from smothering that hope.

Eventually though, he did begin to care. Care enough to realize that walking into a chitterring darkness wasn't the best of ideas and that at the least, he should equip himself for such conditions. Slowly and deliberately, his gun still raised, he reached for a pair of field binocculars, raising them to his single pair of eyes.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes glittered back at him.

Suddenly, Michael "Grizzly" Lincoln cared about a lot of things. He cared that he was looking at things not of this planet, or of any other planet in the Koprulu Sector. He cared that said things suddenly charged towards him, letting out screeches that acted as death's herald. He cared that the SMG's 9mm bullets were doing jack shit against them, courtesy of unbelievably tough hides and sheer weight of numbers. He cared when they pounced, tackling him to the ground.

And he _especially _cared when the things started tearing him apart limb from limb…

* * *

**0357 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Arathi Basin (Grid G7)**

Once, long ago, there was a country called France.

Leading her platoon through one of the valleys which led to the basin, Miranda Wilkes couldn't help but be taken back to 5th form history lessons back on Halcyon. Admittedly, there was little to remember. History wasn't something that was seen as particularly necessary on an agricultural planet and of what little was taught, Wilkes had never really been interested. Anything that was taught was related to the settlement of the Koprulu Sector, the Confederacy or Halcyon itself. To Wilkes, it had generally been a repetition of what she already knew. Every human child knew the story of human settlement in the galactic fringe and that the Confederacy was a "benevolent government that unified mankind in the "New World." You could only get so much out of two centuries of history.

The details of Halcyon's history was something new to her, partly because most of the lessons centered on a country called France back on Old Earth, a political entity that, like virtually every other country on the planet, had ceased to exist as an independent state by the early 23rd century, coming under the auspices of the United Powers League. Apparently the country had been renowned for its skills in viticulture, a practice which was Halcyon's main form of agricultural produce. As far as Wilkes could tell, Halcyon's colonial government had deemed it appropriate that its children be informed as to their homeworld's cultural background.

Wilkes had never paid much attention in those lessons. True, it had been pretty shocking to learn that France apparently featured species of giant snails that ate its people and equally large frogs that jumped across the sea to hunt people from an island known as Albion, but the novelty soon wore off. The only reason that the lessons were coming back to her now, was that there was a saying that she once heard as to the nature of the country, that all France was good for was hosting an invasion.

"Just like Chau Sara," Wilkes murmured.

"Pardon?"

The lieutenant's gaze turned to her side, seeing that Perry was still walking beside her. "What's like Chau Sara?" he asked curiously.

Wilkes un-polarized her visor, a small smile visible. "I didn't even know you were listening.

Perry gave a small shrug, or at least what was considered small for someone in CMC armor. "Gotta do something. May as well listen to you going on about God knows what."

Wilkes gave a small chuckle, although it sounded more like a giggle. "Come on Perry, there's lots of stuff to do out here." She threw out her arms in an exaggerated gesture, as if urging Perry to marvel at the beauty of nature. "We're out in the wild. Free from civilization, in Mother Nature's tender arms. You can gaze up at the sky, marvel at the canyon walls, look at…" She trailed off. Perry had un-polarized his visor too, though rather than a smile, she was greeted by a scowl.

"Don't do that," he said slowly. _"Ever."_

Wilkes was tempted to go on about how Perry didn't have a romantic bone in his body but decided not to. Besides, the sergeant didn't even give her a chance.

"So anyway, what's like Chau Sara?" Perry asked.

Wilkes decided to cut to the chase. "France," she said simply.

"France?"

Wilkes nodded, relieved that Perry wasn't as antagonistic as she anticipated him to be. "Yes, France. In that all Chau Sara is good for is hosting an invasion."

Perry raised an eyebrow. "I see…" he said slowly, revealing himself to be a hopeless liar. "And how is that, exactly?"

Wilkes was faintly aware that she was beginning to sound like a child who was going on about winning some prize to his or her parents. Regardless, she pressed on.

"Look at the militia's combat records," continued Wilkes. "Engagements with the SOK have been few, almost no-existent."

"So what? The militia has been lazy then," Perry murmured, the tone of his voice indicating that he wasn't interested. Wilkes either ignored it or didn't notice, pressing on;

"Perhaps, but consider their equipment," the lieutenant continued. "CMC-200 armor, T Series pistols…" She let out a sigh. "Collins has been skimpy. And now, thanks to him, we're forced to-…"

"Damit Wilkes, will you shut the hell up!?"

The fact that a non-commissioned officer was acting like a rabid skalet at his commanding officer did not go unnoticed, many of the platoon's heads turning to watch the spectacle. If Perry noticed, there was no indication.

"Ma'am, this mission stinks to high heaven and with all due respect, we have more important things to worry about than militia incompetence. I-…"

"Of course this mission stinks!" Wilkes shouted, matching Perry's gutso "We're playing the role of executioners, going against every rule of war, and right now focusing on-…"

"Wilkes, if you were even the least bit focused, you be worried about the chain of command rather than some lousy rebels who're going to get what's coming to them!"

By this stage Wilkes and Perry had stopped walking and by default, the platoon as a whole. Few, if any of the marines were worried. Watching their superiors go at each other like children provided far more satisfaction than gunning down rebels. With rebels, Alpha Squadron's victory was assured. Their superiors going for each others' throats was a different story however, and bets were already being taken.

"Chain of command?" Wilkes asked, more confused than angry. "What are you on about?"

Perry sighed, his anger in turn having given way mainly to frustration. "Wilkes, think about it. We have a large Sons of Korhal force on this world and only a single company has been sent to deal with it."

"So? Alpha Squadron is the best of the best."

Perry snorted at that but continued. "Yes, but since when is a single company separated from the rest of its division? Antiga Prime can handle itself, while the SOK are public enemy number one. Why leave a larger force to deal with the less significant threat?"

Part of Wilkes' mind prompted her to tell Perry that it would be more correct use of terminology to claim that Arcturus Mengsk was public enemy number one rather than a group. Still, she remained silent.

"And that's not all," Perry continued. "Alpha Squadron is a rapid strike force. Yet here we are, walking around in canyons, heading for the center basin that should just as easily be observed from the air. I…Wilkes?"

Wilkes was no longer paying attention, yet given that she was clutching her rifle tightly, Perry suspected that she may have good reason. "Ma'am?" Perry asked, far more formal than he usually was.

Wilkes remained silent, simply making some signals with her hand. Perry, and indeed every marine in the platoon, recognized it as an order to move into a squad support formation and prime their weaponry while they were at it.

"Perry, Ayers, Sparrow, with me," Wilkes whispered. "Fifth platoon, turn off illuminators. Maintain radio and vocal silence." With that, she began slowly edging forward, Perry, Ayers and Sparrow following.

Perry noted that it was an interesting combination. Private Ayers was perhaps the most stoic soldier of the platoon while Corporal Sparrow was its most trigger-happy member, albeit one that shot accurately. It showed too, at least in their movements. Both had their visors down, but even so, Perry could guess what their visages would convey, standing in contrast to his own…

Concern.

"You feel that?" Wilkes whispered as Perry moved up behind her in standard fire team formation.

"Yeah…" said Perry slowly, knowing what she was referring to. That feeling at the back of your mind, the feeling that makes your muscules tighten and your hair prickle. Perry doubted that Wilkes' hair was prickling since she'd somehow managed to avoid having it cut down to regulation length, but even so…

"Turn your illuminators off," Wilkes whispered. "Perry, switch to infa-red."

Silently, the platoon followed as ordered. Although the sun was beginning to rise, the switching off of the CMC-300 Powered Combat Suit illuminators left the valley in darkness. Only Wilkes and Perry could see with any great clarity; infa-red vision was built into the visors of a few power suits, but generally only officers had access to them and even then it wasn't universal. As part of Alpha Squadron, which received the best equipment the Confederacy could field, Wilkes and Perry were two of the lucky ones.

"Ma'am?" Perry asked, gripping his gauss rifle just as tightly as his superior. "Why are you-…"

"We're being watched," Wilkes murmured. "And I don't want to present a target."

"Watched?" Perry asked. "Are you-…"

"Perry, I've served in these kind of conditions before. I know that we're not alone and so do you."

The staff sergeant had to concede the point. There was something eerie about the valley they were in. Something…non-human. They were not alone, yet instinct implied that there was more to it than this. Perry looked around, the infa-red showing the valley in clarity. There was nothing and yet…something was there. _Something_ was nearby.

And the fact that his radio was crackling with static wasn't helping. He checked the source via his HUD. Wilkes was looping her feed into his own, picking up something on a general TACCOM that she thought it best to hear. Considering that the panicked voice of Lieutenant Craven could be heard, Perry couldn't blame her;

"…I repeat, we are under attack by hostile forces!" Craven shouted, the sounds of gunfire, shouts and screams in the background, said screams not always sounding human. "…outnumbered…pulling back…I repeat, request…fuck, they've…Jesus!"

"Craven, what the hell is going on!?" shouted a voice that Perry recognized as Fisher's."

"Fisher? This is Craven, we're…"

Craven never got to finish his sentence. Perry could not be entirely sure why, but given the proximity of the screams, it sounded like his own had been added to the general symphony of shouts, screams and shots. A prelude to what filtered through his radio from the other platoons as the case was…

"Contacts! Lots of contacts!"

"What in the name of…"

"Kill em! Kill 'em!"

"Sir, we have to…"

"Don't even think about it marine!"

"Flick it, I'm-…

"Argh! Get it off me!"

"Don't just stand there! Open fire!"

"Collins, are you there!?" Fisher exclaimed, the sound of his own gauss rifle clattering away. "Damit Collins, respond!"

_He's broadcasting on an open channel?" _Perry wondered. _"Things really must have gone to hell._

"Captain, this better be important," drawled Collins' voice.

"Magistrate, my company needs reinforcements five minutes ago!" Fisher shouted, the screams and gunfire becoming more pronounced.

Collins yawned. "What?"

"Damit Collins, we've got incoming! Lots of incoming and I'm damned if I can identify them!"

Collins chuckled "What's that captain? Can't even identify the Sons of Korhal?"

"Damit Collins, they're not even _human_!"

"What? Perry whispered.

Collins seemed equally taken aback, given a few seconds passed before he responded, sounding calm, yet slightly…disturbed.

"Well whatever they are you must destroy them, captain. That's a direct order." With that, he signed off.

"Destroy them when we're outnumbered ten to one!?" Fisher exclaimed. "Collins? Collins!? Damit, pick up the transceiver you piece of slimy-…"

Exactly what Fisher's next insult was, Perry never found out, courtesy of more screaming. Screaming that was unusually close. Screaming that was courtesy of Corporal Sparrow as _something_ tore into him.

The screaming didn't last long. Despite his armor, the _thing _easily tore into his jugular vein, blood pouring out. A second its own blood was added to the valley floor, courtesy of Wilkes, Perry and Ayers opening fire with their gauss rifles. It never had a chance, 8mm spikes moving at hypersonic speeds tearing into its flesh. Blasted off the body of its victim, it lay there in a pool of its own blood; red like a human, yet not quite human. Almost as if…

"An alien," Ayers whispered. "It's a flicking _alien_."

Both Perry and Wilkes remained silent as they moved forward, looking down at their assailant. It was almost like a dog…if dogs had scales, two large claws on each foot, two scythe protrusions extending from its shoulder, black, soulless eyes…

Alright, screw it. The dog analogy was a bad one. After all, dogs did not suddenly start erupting from the ground all around them and bound down cliffs, hungering for blood. Moving in a co-coordinated fashion. Seemingly capable of setting up an ambush…

Perry froze. For the first time in his life, he froze. He couldn't believe it. He'd always dealt with the facts, knowing that they obeyed the rules of reality. Yet here the facts were different. The platoon, indeed, the entire company from the sound of things, were under attack by…things. Insect-like things. Things bent on their destruction. Things that were…well, _alien_.

It was all too much for Perry and given the lack of activity in the platoon, too much for the marines also. They were trained to fight rebels and other enemies of the Confederacy, not the stuff of nightmares. Wilkes was the only exception, her voice drifting over the com system, raising Perry out of his stupor…

"Open fire," 1st Lieutenant Miranda Wilkes said calmly. "Open fire and kill them all."

* * *

**0413 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Arathi Basin (Grid H1)**

_TRANSCRIPT/ CONCOM 616/ MET: 00:02:01_

_Call-sign: Shadow Trident_

_Designation: ST_

_Call-sign: Dark Zero_

_Designation: DZ_

_Play_

_ST: Recon Squad Cerberus reporting. Dark Zero, do you copy, over?_

_DZ: Dark Zero receiving, link with Shadow Trident established. Report status, over._

_ST: Landing successful sir. Preparing to engage xenomorphs as per Mission Pattern Sigma, over._

_DZ: Cancel that order, over._

_ST: Pardon? Please repeat, over._

_DZ: Things have gotten out of hand, Trident. Xenomorph infestation is greater than anticipated. They've engaged an Alpha Squadron force, over._

_ST: Wasn't that part of the plan in the first place sir? To use the Alphas to lure the xenomorphs out?_

_DZ:…Let's just say that they did a better job than we expected. Regardless, I'm sending you new data, over._

_HUD Download: Alpha Squadron 14th, Echo Company (designation: Snow Pigeon)_

_CO: Captain Hugh Fisher_

_Strength: Five platoons_

_Locations: D4, G7 (see corresponding grid reference)_

_Status: Critical_

_DZ: Engage phase maneuver Lambda, over._

_ST: Affirmative, carrying out maneuver, over._

_External COM;_

_ST: First squad, make your way to Grid D4. Second squad, follow my lead to Grid G7. One skullder per squad._

_Internal COM;_

_ST: Dark Zero, this is Shadow Trident. Movement Lambda executed, over._

_DZ: Confirmation received Dark Zero. Good luck._

_**The following record is placed under Class 5 Seal as per Confederate Security Act of 2490, Article 13, sub-section 17. Any breach of protocol will result in instant court martial and likely discharge under the terms of Disciplinary Code VF-115STC.**_

_End transcript._

* * *

**0428, November 8, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Arathi Basin (Grid G7)**

Aliens. They were under attack by flicking _aliens_.

Alright, Wilkes couldn't be absolutely sure of that. The Koprulu Sector wasn't totally devoid of life, ranging from the ursadon on Braxis to the now domesticated Umojan insects. Chau Sara was still mostly unexplored and for all she knew, these…things could be native.

Yet in her heart, Miranda knew that they weren't. Instinct, inherent terran psionic potential…she didn't care. She knew that they were not natural. She knew that they meant harm. She knew that they meant to wipe the Alphas out and despite it being a sad indictment of the nature of life, she knew that the only way to avoid this was to return the favour.

_Providing they don't exterminate us first, _Wilkes mused, letting out another burst of 8mm spikes that gutted one of the things as it charged towards her. It was a sight being repeated all along the line, the Marines using their C-14s to fire in short, controlled bursts. One-on-one, a single creature had no chance against one of the human soldiers. Spikes being fired via magnetic acceleration at up to 30 rounds per second when fully automatic tended to convey such an fact aptly. Here and there a fragmentation grenade would detonate, courtesy of the in-built attachment in the rifle, but overall, the Blood Hawks were keeping the creatures at bay.

Yet it was not the creatures' losses that Wilkes was noticing, but rather their own. Here and there, one of the things would come into close quarters, bearing their scythes to bear. Although the CMC armor often provided protection, "often" did not translate to "always", the bodies of a few unfortunate souls lying on the ground, not breathing.

And _that _was what really disturbed Wilkes, he rifle's LED flashing a red **000**, a status mirrored on her HUD. She slammed home another clip and resumed fire. A single platoon of forty could only afford limited losses. These creatures on the other hand…there was no end to them.

_At this rate we could run out of ammo before the last of us bites it, _she thought, letting out a fully automatic burst to gun down three of the abominations as they charged towards her.

"Keep your fire down Wilksy, we need the ammo!" Perry shouted, blasting one of the things as it jumped towards him. He brought his armored boot down on the creature's neck, snapping it.

"Concentrate on your own targets and I'll concentrate on mine!" Wilkes retorted. Faced with hell's children, she wasn't in the mood to screw around. After all-

"Ah! Get it off me!"

Wilkes spun around to her right, her suit's aural directional enhancers pinpointing the sound's source. Said source was Private Ayers, sprawled on the ground as one of the things plunged a scythe into his lower right abdomen.

The second scythe never descended, Wilkes blasting the limb off in a short burst. As the creature screeched in pain, she unleashed a second burst, the spikes ripping through the creature's side, thick red blood gushing out. Mixing with Ayers' own.

"Sorry ma'am, got careless," the man winced as Wilkes knelt down.

"Shut up and stay still," Wilkes murmured, detached, but not unkind. She knelt down and activated his suit's lockdown system, as was standard procedure to stabilize wounded soldiers and/or prevent a shorted-out suit from misfiring.

"Hang tight Ayers. We'll pull through."

"Will do ma'am. And thanks."

Wilkes stood back up, looking around the platoon's battle radius as she did so. It had become noticeably smaller than before, the Marines having pulled back to a tighter perimeter. The lieutenant sighed. Flamethrowers or even firebats themselves would have been ideal in these circumstances and all things considered, those specialists would have welcomed it. Unfortunately, the original mission profile had stressed the wide area available as rendering close-quarters weaponry redundant. As such, all of Wilkes' fire teams consisted of chain-gun cannon armed Marines. While their firepower was doing a good job of keeping the creatures at bay, bullets couldn't compare to flame in these-

"_Schree!"_

Wilkes let out a yell as she was tackled to the ground, her gauss rifle clattering on the ground beside her. Her HUD flashing warning lights, she lifted it, not wanting to be distracted in what could be the last moments of her life. An exaggeration perhaps, but locking her grey eyes with the black, soulless ones of the creature currently one her chest, that could have well been the case.

For a second, the woman could not move, having an encounter of a _very _close kind. The thing barred its teeth, revealing razor sharp fangs, flanked by two mandibles. It tilted its scaled, segmented head, as if it were a cat studying a mouse…its _prey_.

_Oh god… _Wilkes thought, panic beginning to well up in her. _Pray…that's all I am to it…_

It certainly seemed to be the case, the thing letting out a screech as it raised its right scythe, ready to plunge down into the human below it.

It never made contact.

With speed driven by pure instinct, Wilkes' left armored hand shot up, grabbing the skinned area of the scythe, the extension of the body which led to the blade. It was strong. Surprisingly strong…Regardless, the CMC-300 Powered Combat Suit was stronger, allowing Wilkes to keep one scythe at bay with her left hand, draw out her slugthrower pistol with her right and fire three rounds into the creature's neck. It slumped down…dead.

Wilkes held the pistol up, letting the morning sunlight glint over its polished surface. _Maybe this thing isn't so useless after all, _she thought, remembering how the slugthrower was next to useless against powered armor. _"After all, if it can take out a-…"_

The pistol was suddenly knocked out of her grasp, courtesy of an organic scythe…a scythe linked to another creature that landed on top of her.

The lieutenant's eyes went wide. The slugthrower…it knew it was a weapon…it was intelligent enough to realize that disarming its human opponent left the human helpless…helpless enough to…

Wilkes stifled a cry of pain as the creature's left scythe plunged down into the less armored section of her inner right arm. It thrust through metal and flesh, pinning her arm to the ground.

Letting out a shout of both range and pain, Wilkes began pummeling it with her free left hand. Not exactly her fist of choice, but the powered armor provided enough strength to leave it dazed…or at least dazed long enough for the Marine to unlatch her helmet and slam it against the side of the creature's head, rendering it unconscious.

_Slughtrower, helmet, what's next? _Wilkes wondered, trying to ignore the shivery sensation that ran through her arm, even as a tourniquet sealed the breach. _At this rate I'll-…_

The helmet suddenly went flying aside, courtesy of a _third _creature that landed on top of her. This time, Wilkes did let out a cry of pain as it sunk one scythe into her left shoulder blade, the right heading…to the side?

"You ok Wilksy?" came a voice.

Wilkes looked up at Perry, a primed gauss rifle in his hand, one which had sent the third creature to its grave

"P…Perry?" Wilkes stammered.

"Hey, don't look at me like that," said Perry hastily, helping her up. "We can hardly afford to lose our CO can we?"

Wilkes somehow doubted that. This was a one for all fight, every man and woman for him/herself. What purpose did command serve in a kill or be killed scenario?

_Very little, _thought Wilkes bitterly, fighting back tears of pain and shame. She cast her gaze around what remained of the platoon, namely half of it. The line had still held, but was so fragmented, so thin, that it was only a matter of time until the creatures…

…were blasted away?

"What the hell!?" Perry exclaimed.

"Look. From the north," said Wilkes softly. She raised her left arm while clutching Perry's with her right. Perry followed the line she set, seeing what looked like a skullder combat walker, flanked by a squad of firebats.

"The cavalry?" Perry murmured.

"Hell if I know."

Cavalry or not, it served the same purpose. Realizing the greater threat, the creatures, screeching and charging as one, bounding to the north.

They never stood a chance.

As one, the terran force opened fire. The skullder, an upgraded version of the goliath combat walker, let rip with its belly mounted 30mm auto cannon ripped the dog impersonations apart, hellfire-anti-air missiles proving equally adept against ground targets as aerial ones. Firebat napalm rockets joined the volley, incinerating the dead and living alike. Even the few critters that made it through the barrage were incinerated by the firebats' plasma-based perdition flamethrowers, or, in some cases, dispatched by their own hands.

It was over in minutes

"What…the hell…was that?" Perry asked slowly. Wilkes looked around what remained of her platoon. Judging by the quizzical gazes and movements of her soldiers, she suspected that they were all asking the same question.

"Alpha Squadron 14th, 5th platoon?" asked a deep, raspy voice. Wilkes looked back to their saviors, the force coming in range. What looked like the head firebat was walking ahead of his squad.

"And if we are?" Wilkes asked, looking straight at the firebat's polarized visor. She went to lift down her own, only to remember that her helmet was lying somewhere on the dirt around her.

"Well if you're not, then we've wasted our time," the firebat grunted, stepping forward. Perry went to intercede but Wilkes held him back. No need to piss off someone who could incinerate you in seconds.

"Yes, we are," said Wilkes, studying the firebat's shoulder pads of his teal colored CMC-660 Heavy Combat Suit; the same color as the rest of his force. The two silver bars of a Captain were on one, a black, three headed dog on the other.

_Cerberus… _thought Wilkes, remembering something else from history. _The three headed dog which guarded the gates of hell in Greek mythology…"_

"What are you here for?" asked Perry suspiciously. "Here to help out with the SOK?"

The firebat chuckled. "No staff sergeant, the SOK has been dealt for us. We're here to return the favor."

"Return the favor?" Wilkes asked, unable to take all this in. "Meaning…what?"

The firebat remained silent before lifting his visor. A pale, scarred visage greeted them.

"I'm Captain Shiff Arlo of Cerberus Recon Squad," he growled. "And we're here to kill anything and everything on this God forsaken rock that isn't human." He looked around, marveling at his force's handiwork.

"And this, _Blood Hawks_, is just the beginning…"


	5. Aftermath

"_O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world that has such people in it!"_

"'_Tis new to thee."_

Miranda and Prospero from _The Tempest _by William Shakespeare

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 5: Aftermath**

**0443 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Office of the Colonial Magistrate**

"And you're sure that there aren't any satellites in range?"

"Negative sir. Most of the planet's satellites are in geo-stationary orbit and as such, cannot be moved to cover the basin. The earliest flyby of a mobile one will be in approximately two point four hours."

Collins had suspected that would have been the case, yet still saw fit to question the AI that was capable of treating the situation with more calm than he, or any human for that matter, could muster. Chau Sara's observation satellites had been designed with keeping an eye on its planetary system in mind rather than spying on the planet below. After all, what reason could there be to spy on a peaceful, backwater Fringe World? What threat could possibly arise that would warrant the use of satellites for terrestrial observation? At the time of Chau Sara's founding, there simply wasn't any.

Of course, no-one could have predicted the coming of the Sons of Korhal back then. No-one could have anticipated a hostile first contact with aliens. No-one could have predicted any of this…

_Aliens… _Collins mused silently, his lack of energy stemming from more than just lack of sleep. _What _is_ the world coming to?_

In truth, Collins already knew. He may have been the magistrate of a backwater Fringe World, but still, Chau Sara was considered one of the core worlds of the Terran Confederacy, courtesy of its strategic position on the edge of its domain. As such, Collins had been granted access to certain Confederate secrets…secrets that included the existence of certain alien species.

It had been obvious from the start of humanity's arrival in the Koprulu Sector that he was not alone in the universe, the three original colonies all having an abundance of native life. The creatures found on a Fringe World by a law marshal back in 2487 however, were something new. Located on a number of neighboring planets as well, they were not native to the Koprulu Sector and seemed to have been dispersed in a manner resembling a conscious attempt at infestation.

The Confederacy had dealt with the situation appropriately of course, transporting the creatures to secret facilities and keeping their existence a secret by unleashing a man-made virus on the planets, depopulating them through what was reported as a strain of cholera.

_No great loss of course,"_ Collins reminded himself_. Sacrifices always have to be made in the name of science._

Science certainly had a field day with the creatures and the purple, spongy substance they brought with them, named larva and creep respectively. Collins hadn't been privy to the full details, but understood that the larva seemed to be precursors to something…else, containing countless DNA sequences with billions of possible combinations. In layman's terms, they had the possibility to mutate into everything and anything.

_But it's not always that easy, is it? _Collins thought bitterly, remembering the setbacks they'd suffered last year. The Sons of Korhal had somehow acquired knowledge of the creatures' locations, attacking both the Fujita Facility on Vyctor 5 and the Ghost Academy on Tarsonis, both of which held valuable specimens and indeed, the only specimens. However, although he wasn't sure of the exact means, new groups of xenomorphs had been obtained on both Chau Sara and Mar Sara in recent months, sent to the Flannum and Jacobs Installations respectively. Not even the SOK could know of this...

_Or could they? _Collins wondered, the cold, dark feeling that was fear crawling up within him. _What if Mengsk came to Chau Sara for more than mere rebellion. What if…what if…?_

The pieces were beginning to fall into place. The Sons of Korhal coming to Chau Sara, attacking a distant Fringe World which served little tactical value to their rebellion or the Confederacy apart from its status as a Core World. The xenomorphs being let loose just as the Alpha Squadron forces were called to the world…

Collins was beginning to sweat. If word of this got out, his career, or what was left of it, would be over, being forced to act as the Confederate scapegoat. "Plausible deniability" could only go so far after all…

"Sir, are you listening?"

With a jerk, Collins was brought back to grim reality, a reality that the AI seemed intent on ensuring that he remained trapped in.

"What?" the magistrate asked, sounding irritable from a combination of worry and lack of sleep.

"Incoming transmission sir. Priority One."

Collins' spirits raised a little. "From Fisher?" he asked hopefully. _Hell, maybe the Alphas have managed to eradicate the critters, clearing up this mess for me._

"Negative sir," the AI replied coolly. "It's coming from above the planet, from the _Explorer_-class science vessel _Charon_.

With a silence that betrayed his ressignment to fate, Collins gave a nod and opened the link, a holo projector coming down from the ceiling of his office. He'd never heard of the _Charon_, and given that he was kept informed of all movements of the Colonial Fleet in the Sara System (at least, that was what the brass assured him), it must have been a vessel from outside the fleet. Probably from the Intelligence Corps, or one of the Squadrons.

"Magistrate Edwin Collins I presume?" came a voice.

"That's me," Collins grunted, leaning back in his chair and resisting the urge to use it for sleeping purposes. "What can I-…"

Collins stopped short. The holo projector was a malfunctioning piece of junk at best, and it took time for an image to form completely. Today was no different in that regard. What _was _different however, was the image itself. That of a man. A man that made Collins' heart skip a beat.

He was…unnatural. Tanned, 'polished' skin complemented a thin figure with cropped black hair…hair that gave way to a visage that was half cybernetic, a large red ocular implant covering his right eye and forehead. His throat was even more unnatural, scarred flesh interwoven with advanced circuitry. His left organic eye was glazed over, a distant, cold view that spoke of indifference to the world around him and those who dwelt in it.

"My name is Lieutenant Colonel Xavier Kurze," the man rasped, his cold, half metallic, half organic voice begetting an authority that far superseded Collins' own. "I'm a member of Cerberus Recon Squad and captain of the _Charon_."

Collins went pale. "Cer…Cerberus?" he stammered. "You…you're part of-…"

"Yes magistrate, Cerberus Recon Squad," the newcomer snarled, irritated at having been interrupted. "An elite Confederate black ops group that few know of and even fewer have come into contact with." Kurze's visage narrowed. "Do you know why I'm here, magistrate, why I'm wasting my time with this backwater colony?"

Collins gulped, deciding then and there that he'd do anything and everything necessary to save his own skin.

"Because…we're facing an infestation?" the magistrate asked timidly.

The cyborg snorted. "An infestation? Hardly, Mr. Collins. It's more complicated than that. _Much _more complicated."

"How much more?" Collins whispered.

"Complicated in that this is more than an infestation we're facing," said Kurze softly. "Complicated in that this is something that this is something we've never faced before. Complicated in that this is an _invasion_."

* * *

**Halcyon, 25 years ago…**

"_Daddy! DADDY!!!"_

_In a surprisingly short amount of time, the door to her room opened, her father standing in the doorway. Part of the girl's mind, a part not overtaken by fear, wondered as to why he was still up when it was past midnight. Maybe grownups had later bedtimes? Or had the monsters kept him up too?_

"_Miranda?" the man asked. "What's wrong?"_

_The girl, holding her knees tightly and sitting at the end of her bed, looked up at the man with wide eyes-eyes that hadn't adjusted to the darkness as well as she'd have liked. Still, given the circumstances, perhaps that was a blessing…_

"_Monsters daddy…" she whimpered, pointing at the base of her bed with one hand and holding Snuggles tightly with the other. "There's monsters under my bed."_

_The man sighed. "Miranda, honey, I'm sure that-…"_

"_They're there daddy!" the girl protested again. "I can hear them! They're waiting for me to fall asleep and then they'll-…"_

_Exactly what the girl believed the monsters would do was never revealed, considering that the roll of thunder that signaled the beginnings of summer. It also prompted the girl to let out a squeak and bound off the bed with Snuggles in hand, holding both the stuffed bear (mecha bears had never been cuddly enough for her liking) and her father's leg like a lifeline._

"_There daddy…" she whispered, pointing to the space under the bed hidden by sheets. "That's where they are…"_

_Peter Wilkes sighed. This was going to be a long night…_

_The long night actually turned out to be a long morning. An hour's worth of poking under beds, turning on lights and hot chocolate. And in that entire hour, no monster was ever found. They must have played hooky._

"_Thanks daddy," the girl said as her father tucked her in. "I knew that the monsters would be frightened of you."_

"_Really?" Peter murmured, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or insult. "Guess they're cowards."_

"_Or you're just brave," the girl said, springing up and hugging her father with the energy that only a child can summon at one in the morning. Despite himself, Peter couldn't help but reciprocate, drawing his daughter in close and stroking her hair._

"_Daddy?" she whispered eventually. "What if they come back? What if the monsters return?"_

_Peter Wilkes knew that it was a lost cause to explain to a four year old girl that monsters didn't exist so he did the next best thing;_

"_If they come back, I'll be here," he said, kissing his daughter softly on the forehead. "By my life, Miranda, I'll never let any harm to you…"_

* * *

**2055 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Gilneas**

"Looks like you were wrong dad…"

It was funny how the human mind worked. Under normal circumstances, Miranda Wilkes, glad to be in her regular fatigues instead of CMC armor, would never have thought that sitting at a table outside a small café in Gilneas would have taken her back to a memory twenty-five years old, especially since the instant coffee she was drinking should have kept her alert and focused. Of course, being attacked by…_things _when on a mission to engage rebel forces, nearly being killed by said things, and then being saved by Cerberus Recon Squad, hardly made for normal circumstances…

Wilkes buried her face in her hands, the coffee forgotten, events having caught up with her. It was all too much, the knowledge that humanity was not the only intelligent species in the galaxy. True, there had been signs of course…formations on planets which hinted at sentient intervention, mysterious lights on the borders of terran space. Yet this was the day that intelligent life had been found. This day that humanity knew that other species had reached sentience.

_And what happens? _Wilkes wondered bitterly. _We end up killing each other on sight._

Wilkes sighed, swallowing some of the coffee that tasted like the plastic cup it was in. The idealism of first contact had been quashed by…well, reality. And Wilkes knew from experience that reality was never grand. Centuries of wondering whether there was intelligent life, centuries of gazing at the night sky…and the only answer was bloodshed.

Surely there had to be more to life than this?

Yet there was more to the situation than aliens and Wilkes knew it. Cerberus had been on Chau Sara "to kill anything and everything that wasn't human," a line that spoke of confidence and knowledge. And considering that Cerberus Recon Squad was only dispatched in the most extreme circumstances, half of them reeking of black ops gone awry…

Wilkes clutched the cup tightly. Someone knew. Someone _knew _about those…things, had hidden the existence of alien life from humanity. And given the fact that Cerberus was here, someone had fucked up royally in the keeping of this secret.

_Still, at least there's a bright side to all this, _Wilkes reflected morbidly._ At least the critters took care of the SOK…_

Fisher, ever the one to follow protocol, had insisted that the E Company, or what was left of it, continue with the operation. They'd come across the rebels alright, or rather, what was left of them. Mutilated body parts didn't make identification easy, but it could safely be said the insurgents had suffered close to 100 percent casualties. A silver lining some might argue.

_Or a dark one… _Wilkes thought. _"Especially considering that-…_

"You alright ma'am?"

With a start, the lieutenant's coffee went flying, courtesy of a slugthrower being raised to face the trespasser. The draw was exceptional, but the validity was somewhat in question. After all, it's hardly a good idea to draw a weapon on your staff sergeant

"Perry?" Wilkes asked.

"What, you expected a grunt?" Perry asked, gazing down the barrel of the pistol without flinching. "Don't count on it Wilksy, they're too busy being jackasses."

"Jackasses?" Wilkes asked slowly, lowering the pistol but not her guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, the usual…" said Perry idly, sitting down opposite his superior. "Gilneas is now under martial law and the troops are making sure it stays that way."

Wilkes resisted the urge to groan. Gilneas had already been transformed into what was essentially a prison; barbed wire at the town's entrances, 20 mm auto-turrets scattered throughout the perimeter… Gilneas' citizens weren't happy about it, especially since they hadn't been told _why _this was being done, but knew better than to stir up trouble.

_And now, to top it off, I have a bunch of resoced idiots no doubt stirring up trouble for them… _Wilkes thought bitterly. She laid her head on her elbows stretched across the table, as if about to fall asleep. _God, I'm sick of this…_

"Don't worry about it ma'am," said Perry calmly, as if reading her thoughts. "I've seen to it that 5th platoon at least toes the line."

"Great," murmured Wilkes. "Wake me when you know how many lives are on my head this time."

Perry remained silent, prompting Wilkes to drift off. First Antiga Prime, now a disastrous foray against aliens on Chau Sara. Wilkes' sub consciousness started preparing a list of other mishaps in recent times, but was cut short, Perry grabbing his superior's left shoulder…hard.

Wilkes let out a cry of pain. Perry's grip was strong and the fact that he'd sized her wounded shoulder, a shoulder that a scythe of some kind of overgrown insect had plunged through less than twenty-four hours ago, it was excruciating.

"Let me make something clear," Perry growled, ignoring Wilkes' shouts that stemmed from a combination of pain, rage and fear. "Feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to help anyone. It's a waste of your time, and as your subordinate, I have to ensure that your time, and therefore _my _time isn't wasted."

"Perry, let go of me before I-…"

"**Shut up!" **Perry yelled, tightening his grip even further. "Not only is being miserable a waste of time, but it's irritating, melodramatic and endangers the platoon. I didn't sign up to act as a babysitter for my commanding officer!"

"Then why bother!?" Wilkes shouted, tears running down her face from the pain. "You're high enough in the chain of command to complain to Fisher. Why not just-…"

"Because we need you, _Miranda_," Perry interrupted, letting go of his grip. "We need you now more than ever."

Wilkes was too focused on massaging her shoulder to respond, but her widening eyes served just as well as words.

"We faced down aliens," said Perry calmly, yet with an edge to his voice that Wilkes wasn't familiar with. "We faced down aliens that were intent on killing us and if wasn't for you, they probably would have done so."

"For me?" Wilkes spluttered. "What the hell did I do?"

"You gave the order to fire ma'am. While we were taking in the fact that bugs were bearing down on us, you remained in control and allowed the rest of us to follow."

Wilkes remained silent, her eyes wide. With a sigh, Perry leant back, giving an air of mysticism.

"Words have powers of their own," the sergeant continued. "There's…magic in them, the kind of magic that's found in literature. Yet words also have power…the power to end a life, the power to save it…" He sighed and faced the starry night. "That's what chain of command is all about, ma'am. The power of words. "And today, lieutenant, you used that power exceptionally." Perry lowered his gaze to meet his superior's "Never forget ma'am, there's something magical about words. And that magic is part of what makes us human."

The pain in her arm forgotten, eyes wide, the urgent beeping of her comm. unit unheard and the rising of feelings that were largely alien to her, Miranda Wilkes had to agree…

* * *

The being liked to consider itself above petty emotion. But there was something about watching its minions slaughter its foes that was so…satisfying.

Perhaps it was due to consolation, that its power was eternal, that it was invincible even against other species that had risen to sentience. After all, had not its true foes reached the pinnacle of physical evolution, the so called _Purity of Form_, achieved sentience? Was their conflict not inevitable?

Of course it was inevitable. And while this new race called humanity was but a shadow of its true enemies, and even of its own kind, they still made worthy foes.

Not that this left victory in doubt however, the bodies of its enemies standing in testament to the ferocity, the _power_ of the Swarm. Though the mammals' weapons claimed hundreds of its minions, it had hundreds more to spare. Every bullet, every missile, every single projectile was just a drop in a river. And once the river reached its foes and began drowning them in an orgy of violence, the screams of the dying mixing with the scream of the Swarm, the path lay open…

…to the Flannum Installation.


	6. The Gauntlet

"_The initial discovery of alien spores on a number of Fringe Worlds in early 2487 opened up a world of opportunities. Although their sites of infection had to be steralized, the potential boons overshadowed such sacrifices. A substance known as "creep", which could proliferate even in vacuum and "larvae", organisms with billions of potential genetic combinations for metamorphosis into higher organisms. The applications for the use of such properties were thought to be endless and their arrival on the Fringe Worlds a blessing. In our arrogance, we missed that which was standing before our eyes…"_

"_With each discovery, it was realised that the xenomorphs had arrived on inner Fringe Worlds first, then slowly making their way outward, seemingly originating somewhere from within the galaxy's inner regions. Why would this be the case? Why were spores only found on backwater worlds, unlikely to be discovered by their inhabitants? How could a series of worlds be seeded just by blind chance in such a comparatively small timeframe? Why was it that these creatures bypassed our territory in the Koprulu Sector, only to begin proliferation in one of its most remote corners?"_

"_There was a _purpose _behind such seeding. And I fear what that purpose might be…"_

Professor William Gardner, researcher at the Fujita Facility

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 6: The Gauntlet**

**2309 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Fort Keldathu**

Spartan…that's how he would describe it.

It was strange how the most bare, drab, and universally gray room in the known universe took Edwin Collins back to primary school history lessons, especially since he'd never paid much attention to them anyway. There was only so much history that someone could obtain from a mere two centuries of settlement, especially with the first six decades featuring your kind stuck on a single world living like bloody Luddites. And when the only alternative was Earth history, a history that was irrelevant to current circumstances and full of holes due to the malfunctioning of ATLAS, the Artificial Tele-empathic Logistics Analysis System that had guided the _Nagglfar _to Tarsonis in the first place, any lesson in the damned subject was guaranteed to be either be skimpy, boring or quite often both.

Still, for Collins at least, there had been exceptions. One of those exceptions had been the history of Sparta, a city state in Greece back on Earth that featured the most formidable warriors in history. Although Greek history had only been taught for a week, courtesy of the lack of information available, Collins had found himself engrossed. After all, who couldn't help but be fascinated at a kingdom of near invincible super soldiers?

A lot of people really. Perhaps that was why brute force was the preferred method of solving problems than common sense in humanity.

There'd been a price to this martial prowess however, and that had been harsh living. And looking at what accounted for his quarters in Fort Keldathu, Chau Sara's primary, and for all intents and purposes, _only_ stronghold, Collins had come to the conclusion that the Spartan lifestyle had been overrated. Hell, you knew you were in trouble when a toilet was within five meters of your bed.

"I trust that everything is in order sir?" came a robotic voice. Collins turned back to face the servo servant, the robot bringing up his suitcase.

Collins simply nodded, most of his attention focussed on gauging the area of his quarters and not liking the results.

"Very well sir," the servo servant answered in a monotone. "Please call me, or one of my counterparts should you require any further assistance.

Collins watched the servo servant exit from the room, closing the door behind it. It was no wonder that so many people back on Tarsonis preferred employing human servants as opposed to androids. Regular servants were never perfect and thus people one could vent their frustration on whenever and however they felt like it. Servo servants, seven feet tall, three hundred pounds and mass produced were…well, perfect, and thus not a reasonable outlet of rage. Well, they did break down on a regular basis, but that was capitalism for you. Keep the repair shops busy and all that.

Collins lay down on the bed, the mattress sinking down into springs that seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Things were moving too fast for him.

In a single day, the magistrate's circumstances, and indeed his life itself had changed dramatically. Life had been normal up until yesterday; signing documents, worrying about rebels, getting pissed at his Adjutant…Now however, he was stuck to a single bedroom and bathroom dwelling, set in a fort manned by 'professional' militia who'd probably shoot him at the slightest provocation. Oh, and there was also the fact that Chau Sara was currently featuring a xenomorph outbreak that, according to Lieutenant Colonel Xavier Kurze, was not an outbreak at all, but an invasion.

_The _Vigilance, Collins reflected. _It was the xenomorphs who created that overlay. It wasn't the Sons of Korhal that destroyed it. It was aliens. Honest to god _aliens… Even though the existence of the xenomorphs had been known to him for years, he was still having trouble taking all of this in.

Collins had no idea what this wave of invaders wanted and didn't even want to consider what they would do to achieve their goals. "Kill all the terrans!" seemed to be a reasonable expectation, at least judging by the attack on Alpha Squadron and the butchering of the SOK forces, but even after having access to the Flannum Installation's files, Collins suspected that only Kurze knew the answer.

Speaking of which…

Collins reached into his trouser pocket, the source of the beeping that had drawn him back to reality. He sighed as he pulled out the comm. pad, the small screen pinpointing the source of the transmission as the _Charon_. With a groan, Collins activated the anti-grav system and clicked receive. With a soft humming sound, the comm. pad drifted towards the centre of the room.

For the most part, the comm. pad was identical in function to the full fledged comm. unit, able to not only send and receive signals but pinpoint their point of origin as well. Its main extra function however (technically it was its _only _extra function but few marketers would tell you that), was that it was capable of displaying holograms of the sender/recipient, possessing a small anti-grav system so it could display the image from above.

Collins wished that he only had a regular comm. unit right now. He didn't want to see Kurze's ugly mug, even if it was only in a hologram…

"Magistrate Collins," the image of the Lieutenant Colonel said as if greeting an old friend, his cybernetic visage distinct even with the glitchy system. "Taking things easy already I see."

Collins suddenly remembered that he was still lying down on the bed. He managed to resist the instinct to sit back up however. Not only was the overhead shelf exceptionally low, but doing so would merely reflect Kurze's authority over him. And after what had happened a few hours ago, Collins was in no mood to indulge the bastard.

"Go to hell," Collins grunted eloquently. "I may not be in my office anymore, but I am still the-…"

"Magistrate of Chau Sara, yes, I know," Kurze interrupted impatiently. "And for all intents and purposes, _magistrate_, you _are _in your office and will treat it as such."

Collins glanced at the nearby desk and, for a variety of reasons, quickly withdrew his gaze.

"Your files have been converted to paper format and will be delivered shortly," Kurze continued. "All in perfect condition from what I understand."

Collins snorted at that, remembering what had happened only a few hours ago.

In hindsight, he should have known it was coming. After all, one didn't get officers from Black Ops units telling you that your planet was under siege by alien organisms and leaving it at that. For most of the day, Collins had gone about his business, assuming that Kurze was simply applying the usual formalities of colonial protocol and was set to deal with the infestation, no questions asked. It had therefore come as a surprise however when, around 7pm, the door to his office had been slammed open, two Cerberus firebats in the doorway.

_You're coming with us, _they'd said. _You have five minutes._

Collins had initially been under the impression that Los Andares was under attack and that he was evacuated to a safe location, hence why he was ready within _four_ minutes. As it turned out however, while his latter assumption was true, the former was not. Dragged out of his office by two psychotics wearing CMC-660 Heavy Combat Suits and hauled into the rear of an armoured personnel carrier, Collins had attracted quite a few stares of people who were blissfully unaware of the xenomorphs' existence.

Collins had asked where they were taking him. One minute of awkward silence later and he resolved not to ask anymore questions.

"Remind me again," said Collins slowly, the four hour drive to the middle of nowhere still fresh in his mind, "why I'm taking orders from you."

"Um, because your world is under siege by a swarm of aliens?" Kurze asked simply, as if worst case first contact scenarios were an everyday occurrence.

"Yes, but I'm still the magistrate of this colony," Collins answered, sitting up slowly. "And I don't see why I should be taking orders from an immoral bastard such as yourself."

Kurze snorted at that. "You were the one who called them in Collins. Remember that when you go to the memorial service."

Collins knew what Kurze was talking about, and the magistrate knew it. The xenomorph invasion had started long before early November, most likely on the same day that the _Vigilance _was destroyed, and the Confederacy was fully aware of the situation. How else could Cerberus arrive at the scene so quickly?

Of course, they'd needed bait, to lure out the xenomorph threat proper and gauge its severity. Collins' request for reinforcements had been genuine, but still general. Hence why only a single Alpha Squadron Company had been sent in with no support; Antiga Prime had been the closest source of Confederate forces and a Company would be large enough to draw the xenomorphs out, yet small enough to be considered expendable. Colonel Duke and his fellow commanders might think otherwise, but their hands were tied up with UNN reporters and keeping Antiga Prime short of full fledged rebellion. One Company was hardly going to be missed.

For all intents and purposes, Collins had been used. _That _was what irked him. The Alphas had been expendable of course, as was the role of a soldier, but _this _was something different.

"Besides, don't you think it's a bit rich for you of all people to be calling anyone immoral?" Kurze continued. "What with your record and all?"

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," Collins lied.

"Indeed?" Kurze sneered. "Forgotten about Korhal so soon?"

Collins mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but not sound came out. Kurze thus continued;

"Thirty five million dead via nuclear bombardment," said the Cerberus commander simply. "Twenty battlecruisers, one thousand _Apocalypse_-class missiles with nuclear warheads attached and a world of blackened glass. Hardly a flattering record, is it?"

"I…I was under orders…"

"Of course you were," said Kurze, waving his hand, his ocular implant twinkling. "Understand it's nothing personal of course. The destruction of Korhal was a regrettable, but necessary action. Still, more planets can always be found and fortunately for us, human lives are a resource that there is an abundance of."

Collins fell silent, his eyes widening as he pondered what scared him more; Kurze's access to his personal record or the fact that the Lieutenant Colonel seemed to genuinely believe his words. Collins quickly settled on the latter. He knew that lives were expendable of course, what military commander didn't? Still, he'd never call human lives a _resource_…

_How the hell did this man come to be a commissioned officer? _Collins wondered. _Or is that part of the reason?_

"Still, there are many who would disagree with me," Kurze continued. "Many who would love to see the remaining captains of those battlecruisers hung by their entrails and paraded throughout Tarsonis City."

"And…you would tell them…about me?" Collins asked, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. "Tell them where I am?"

Kurze shrugged. "If I deem it necessary. Still, if I _do_ deem it necessary, I can just as easily have you assassinated as having you fed into a blender and deposited out of several canine rectum." He smiled as he looked at Collins' pale visage. "Of course, that is not yet required and as long as you acknowledge my authority in this matter, it won't be." He leant forward. "Do I make myself clear, _magistrate?_"

Collins nodded slowly, only now understanding that his transfer to Keldathu was not so much to keep him safe, but so that Kurze could keep tabs on him. "Yes, Lieutenant Colonel. Perfectly clear."

"Good," answered the Cerberus commander, his image leaning back into what Collins supposed was a chair. He started typing on something outside the image.

"Hmm, interesting…" he murmured.

"Something up?" Collins asked curiously, his fear temporarily forgotten.

"Oh, just a small update on the situation with the Flannum Installation," said Kurze simply. "It's fallen to the xenomorphs but by accessing the facility's bio-scanners, we've determined that there are still a number of Confederate scientists inside."

"What!?" Collins exclaimed, his fear forgotten. "Why is this the first I've heard of an attack on the installation!? And how the hell did you override my security clearance!? I'm the only one with the facility's access codes! This is-…"

I told you before, _Magistrate_, I don't answer to you," Kurze snarled. "Or has your brain become so bloated with God knows what that you have a memory span of less than two minutes?"

Collins slowly faced the floor. "No sir. Sorry sir."

Kurze remained silent for a few seconds before letting out a grunt. "Whatever. Cerberus and the Alphas will deal with the situation and considering that the xenomorphs have yet to attack any major population center, we should be able to keep their existence under wraps. In the meantime…" He trailed off. "Hell, I don't know. Twiddle your thumbs or something." With an exaggerated click, he signed off.

Thoroughly shaken by the experience, and not wanting to give Kurze any excuse to follow through on the threats he'd made, Collins proceeded to do just that.

* * *

**2317 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Lazaran Gulleys, Grid K12**

"Damit Kurze, I want answers and I want them now!"

Courtesy of being the Company's commanding officer, Fisher was entitled to his own armoured personnel carrier, the interior layered with interfacing equipment that would help him co-ordinate his troops better. By way of this emptiness, his exclamation reverberated throughout, reminding the man that he was no longer the captain of Echo Company, but rather what was left of it.

_And whose fault is that? _Fisher asked himself. _The xenomorphs? Or this bastard?_

"I understand your desire for information about the xenomorphs, Captain, but I'm really not at liberty to tell you much." The hologram of Lieutenant Colonel Xavier Kurze gave the most insincere smile possible.

"Well what do you know?" snarled Fisher.

"Only little tibits," said the commander simply. "Suffice to say, they are currently the subject of high level research at the Flannum Installation and several other-…"

"Flannum Installation!?" Fisher spluttered. "That's where we're headed!"

"And this is relevant _why_, exactly?" Kurze asked, tilting his head to the side. "You got the message two hours ago to head to the Lazaran Gulleys. Why else would you be sent there? To pick daisies?"

Fisher shook his head, reflecting that it would be a cold day in hell before he found any kind of flower on this barren rock.

"Moving on," Kurze continued, "we'd quarantined a number of these creatures for study, but shortly after our science crews began their experiments all communication with the Flannum Installation was lost."

"And that's where Alpha Squadron comes in, isn't it?" asked Fisher slowly, already knowing the answer.

Kurze nodded. "Affirmative. The installation has been compromised, and preliminary scanner sweeps indicate the area is crawling with hostiles. My Cerberus unit will handle the situation inside, but we require Alpha Squadron's assistance getting there."

Fisher nodded grimly. "We'll get the job done."

"Good," grunted the Lieutenant Colonel. He went to withdraw from the connection but suddenly drew back.

"Something else?" asked Fisher wryly.

"Yes," answered the Cerberus commander. "I just want to remind you that all other information is on a strict need to know basis. And should you reveal any of this information to your men…well, let's just say that not only xenomorphs will be hungering for your blood."

Given the glow in Kurze's eyes, both organic and cybernetic, Fisher didn't doubt that.

* * *

**2321 hours, November 8, 2499**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Lazaran Gulleys, Grid I9**

"The more the merrier" was a saying that Perry usually agreed with. Moving northwest through the Lazaran Gulleys to the objective flanked by Cerberus goliaths however, right now was an exception.

It was a feeling that Echo Company, or rather what was left of it, seemed to share, the total number reduced by almost half. The attack this morning had cost them dearly with forty percent casualties, thirty percent confirmed as killed in action. And considering that Alpha Squadron was the only meaningful force on this world apart from a poorly trained and equipped colonial militia, a force that was against an unknown number of hostiles, circumstances were hardly looking favourable. Not even Cerberus could change that assessment.

Perry was glad that it was late at night and that he had his visor down, knowing that grunts seeing a pale staff sergeant was hardly going to help boost their low confidence.

Cerberus Recon Squad, a.k.a. the Hellbringers. A black ops squadron that dealt with…well, Perry wasn't sure exactly _what _they did and suspected that every Blood Hawk on this planet was in the same boat as he was. Still, given that the force's arrival had coincided with the emergence of the xenomorphs and that they had access to advanced skullder units (or the Cerberus goliath as the pilots insisted on it being called, as if desperate to maintain a degree of confidentiality), Perry had a good idea.

_Then why,_ he thought, _doesn't that make me feel any better?_

In truth, Perry knew the answer. Cerberus' presence alone reeked of black ops and the timing of their arrival only reinforced this feeling. And now, Echo Company was marching through the Lazaran Valleys for an unknown reason. Two hours had passed since they'd been dispatched from Gilneas and Captain Fisher had yet to provide an explanation.

_Hell, maybe he's just as much in the dark as the rest of us._

Somehow however, Perry doubted that. It wasn't exactly uncommon for commissioned officers to remain in a command and control centre, whether it be a full fledged headquarters or a mobile vehicle such as a dropship or APC. And while Fisher had likely followed his own initiative by not separating the Company into its various platoons and instead opting for strength in numbers, there were no doubt other initiatives that he was following. Initiatives no doubt spurred by those higher in the chain of command.

_It's the Arathi Basin all over again, _Perry thought bitterly as his walking pace became almost non-existent, noting the similarities between the gulleys here and the canyons he was in almost twenty-four hours ago; dull, lifeless and essentially a representation of the bulk of Chau Sara. And to top it off, Alpha Squadron was once again marching to hell's gate rather than acting as the rapid strike force that it was meant to be.

_The only difference here is that-…_

"You alright Perry?"

With a start, the marine brought his gauss rifle around, straight into the chest of Miranda Wilkes. To her credit, the lieutenant simply stood there, looking down the gun's barrel to its user. Or maybe it was the knowledge that at least ten other marines had their rifles trained on Perry that prompted her confidence.

"Orders ma'am?" asked one of them, a trigger happy gun ho rookie known as Private Keyes. Perry suspected that he'd be just as happy shooting him as the…things that they'd faced before.

"Move on marines," said Wilkes casually, waving her hand towards the northwest. "The sergeant just needs some 'me time.'"

Perry was once again glad that his visor was down as the guns were lowered and their users moved on. Even in the darkness, there would be no missing his reddening cheeks.

His next action only served to redden them further…

"Sorry about that ma'am," the Staff Sergeant murmured as he caught up with Wilkes, who'd moved off even as the gun had still been pointing at her. "Not sure what came over me."

"I do," said Wilkes simply as she continued walking, not even glancing in Perry's direction. "You're jittery."

"Jittery!?" Perry exclaimed. "What makes you say that I'm-…"

"It's only natural of course," Wilkes continued, ignoring the NCO's outburst. "Not only have we been attacked by a swarm of things less than twenty-four hours ago, but we're now in a series of valleys reminiscent of where said things first attacked us. Oh, and there's the fact that our objective, which Fisher has notably failed to inform us on the details, has to do with them."

Perry fell silent for a few seconds, comprehending not only his superior's words, but the paradox that had been set up. That _she _was lecturing _him _on current circumstances pertaining to combat. Overall, Perry found the feeling irked him, yet was also…gratifying.

"You seem to be taking this in your stride," the marine said eventually. "Talking about bug-eyed monsters as if they're-…"

"We all have to deal with circumstances as they come," Wilkes interrupted, the tone of her voice and her slight increase in pace indicating that she didn't want to talk about the matter. "Reflection is a luxury that we can ill afford right now." With that, it was the lieutenant's turn to lapse into silence.

"Fair enough ma'am," said Perry, deciding to take her hint. "But still try to keep an open mind, eh?"

If any of the marines had been listening, they probably would have considered Perry's comment odd at best and subdusive at worst. There was nothing wrong with keeping an open mind in the armed forces and indeed, it proved to be beneficial in many circumstances. To reinforce imagination in a situation that appeared to be heading straight for combat however, could have been seen as dangerous. Until the need for creativity arose, it was best to keep one's mind focussed and the imagination subdued.

Not that this was a problem mostly-those who were in the armed forces were hardly dreamers, but instead focussed hard arses or, as the case often was, former criminals.

Perry had always suspected that Wilkes was an exception to the general rule, her yakking on about France and whatnot this morning only reinforcing this suspicion. If she'd been a common trooper, he wouldn't have bothered. Considering that Wilkes had been an individual in charge of an entire platoon however, her lack of focus had had Perry concerned for quite awhile. Imagination may have been a strength of Wilkes back in her former, but in Alpha Squadron, Perry had seen it as nothing more than a liability.

Less than twenty-four hours ago however, the staff sergeant had realised that it was the opposite. Wilkes' mind wasn't a weakness. Rather, it was an asset.

Perry knew what had happened back in the Arathi Basin. He and his comrades had been faced by a swarm of bugs unlike anything seen before and somewhat understandably, had frozen up. They were marines, trained to deal with targets that were not only known to them, but were essentially human. Faced with targets that didn't meet any of this criteria, Wilkes had been the only one who hadn't frozen, instead giving the order to fire. An order that, as per the edicts of chain of command and neural resocialization, the platoon had been obliged to obey. An order that, Perry suspected, had ended up saving the lives of more men than what most would suspect.

Less than three hours ago, Perry had realised what had allowed Wilkes to deal with the situation. A dreamer perhaps, but one with an open mind. A person who could appreciate the wonder of extraterrestrial life and other such fantasies, who wasn't trapped in a world of rules and givens. She had the ability to deal with the unknown, while many of the Alphas didn't. An ability that, while no doubt shared with Cerberus Recon Squad, stemmed purely from an individual psyche rather than whatever cold, hard and lifeless information the Confederacy possessed.

For all her faults, Wilkes was perhaps at the greatest advantage here. And for that, Perry was not only determined to fulfil his role, but ensure that quality wasn't lost. A determination that was as high as ever now, considering that not only had the company come within sight of what looked like the entrance to an installation, an entrance surrounded by some kind of dark, spongy substance and strange organic, equally spongy structures. A determination that was now mixed with bloodlust, given that a tide of…things were coming their way, even larger than what 5th platoon had faced back in the Arathi Basin.

"Echo Company, you have incoming hostiles, I repeat, incoming hostiles." Perry rolled his eyes at the sound of Fisher's voice over the TACCOM stating the obvious, repeating such an action by ordering the Marines to get into a defensive line and the four Cerberus Goliaths take up flanking positions. Wilkes however, stopped the trend.

"Sir, are you sure that's wise?" she asked. Perry raised an eyebrow. He'd never heard Wilkes disagree with a superior before, even one with only a single gap between their two pay grades.

"Something the matter lieutenant?"

"Kind of sir," answered Wilkes. "I understand that sending goliaths to the flanks would be standard in a situation like this but…She trailed off.

Perry, for one, knew that she didn't need to go on. goliaths were powerful walkers, but like any armoured vehicle, required infantry support. With their flanks protected by the canyon walls however, the goliaths would usually be placed at the flanks in this kind of situation, ensuring a wide arc of fire from both their autocannons and hellfire ground-to-air missiles. However, with the enemy not human but rather a swarm of…things, it wouldn't be a case of infantry supporting goliaths. Rather, it would be the other way round.

"Cerberus goliaths, move to the centre of the line, dispense fire to support infantry," said Fisher eventually. Whether the pilots understood the captain's reasoning was unknown to Perry, but they followed his orders by moving to the centre and for the staff sergeant, that was all that mattered.

Well, sort of. There was also the issue of a tide of critters advancing on their position.

_Well, we have Wilkes' brains to help us deal with the situation, _thought Perry as, like every other marine in the company, he raised his rifle and got into a firing position. _Let's just hope we have the firepower also… _

* * *

**2330 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Fort Keldathu (current Office of the Colonial Magistrate)**

People sometimes wondered why the military liked using fancy terms, such as "Directive 9" or "Lambda Protocol under Section Sigma." It was generally assumed that it was to maintain confidentiality and while this was partly true, there were other factors at work. The core reason was to allow as many people as possible to fall back on "plausible deniability," to not reveal that "Directive 9" was "shoving a nuke down our enemy's throat" and that the Lambda Protocol designated any civilian casualties acceptable. As for Section Sigma…best not to go there.

Of course, there were times when the brass had to keep their superiors in the loop, or at least thought it best to. Currently looking over a tac-map hologram of the battle playing out in the Lazaran Gulleys, Collins hoped that Kurze had allowed him access to the image for the former reason, but privately suspected that it was the latter, that he was under no obligation to keep the magistrate in the loop and was merely showing him the map to placate him.

_How kind of him, _thought Collins bitterly as he watched the yellow blips blaze away at the red blips, the latter rapidly blinking out while the yellow ones remained firm. Fisher had positioned the skullders well, each walker's arc of fire covering the entire battlefield. Or at least Collins supposed it was Fisher. He doubted that Kurze cared enough to illuminate the Captain on the finer aspects of eradicating xenomorphs.

Especially when the Blood Hawks were nothing but cannon fodder…

Under normal circumstances, Collins would have admitted that Kurze's plan was a good one; luring the xenomorphs out and thus allowing his Cerberus team a clear shot at the installation. Still, considering that Kurze had overridden his security clearance to make this entire operation viable, it was hardly what Collins would call "normal circumstances."

_And all from a Lieutenant Colonel, _thought Collins bitterly. _Hell, if I was still in the Fleet, I woulda…_

Collins trailed off, a small smile forming. Even if he was still in the Colonial Fleet, Kurze would have still outranked him. Still, if he _could _get someone down on Chau Sara that not only outranked Kurze but was also more respectful of the proper protocols, perhaps "normal circumstances" would resume. Xenomorphs aside of course.

Collins' smile widened as he started typing on his laptop, preparing to send a message to Antiga Prime. A break of confidentiality perhaps, but considering the Alphas were already here…

With a wide smile and the touch of the _enter_ key, Collins sat back and waited for the chain of command to take effect…

* * *

**2339 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Lazaran Gulleys, Grid G7, interior of quantradyne APOD-33 dropship **_**Normandy**_

Arlo felt like they were running the gauntlet.

There were a few problems with the analogy of course, and having 'jacked in' to the dropship's power bus and viewing the surroundings via external sensors, Captain Shiff Arlo could see why. The xenomorphs down below were rushing at the Alphas akin to the tides of hell hitting heaven's shores, but the dropships above were perfectly safe. True, some of the snake like xenomorphs would occasionally fling some kind of corrosive spikes their way, but overall, the critters were focussing on the ground forces. No surprise there really. Ever since the creatures were first identified on the security camerras of the derilct cargo ship _Pentallion_ a few months back, it had been understood that they thrived in close quarters.

Although Arlo lived for the thrill that battle brought, he could understand the need for this course of action. Cerberus Recon Squad was just that; a recon squad, designed for quick missions with succinct objectives. And with the lives of roughly half a dozen Confederate scientists and twice as many more security staff at stake in the overrun Flannum Installation, it would certainly have to be a hit and run. After that…well, that would be Alpha Squadron's problem.

"Approaching drop point," came the voice of Warrant Officer Simpson, the pilot of the dropship. Arlo and the four other Cerberus firebats of First Squad responded with their acknowledgement lights, Second Squad in the _Hastings _no doubt following likewise.

_Nothing but a milk run really, _thought Arlo as he checked his wrist mounted flamethrowers, ensuring that their capacity was registered by his HUD. _Surely there's got to be something more than an army of critters between us and the-…_

"**Incoming!"**

For half a second, Arlo wondered why Simpson would yell such a thing. Another half second later, as the dropship went into a barrel roll, Arlo understood why. Maintaining his link with the sensors, the captain could see that they had come within sight of the installation…and within range of what his HUD was identifying as "spore colonies". Aptly named, considering that according to readings, the funnel shaped…things were launching corrosive balls at the dropships. Balls that his HUD identified as seeker spores and were a corrosive variation of the decaying, purplish ground they were situated on called "creep".

_Kurze's been keeping up to date…_

"What the hell are we gonna do!?" exclaimed Corporal Summers from across the cabin "We're-…"

"Carrying on with this mission," Arlo whispered. "No matter what it-…"

"Mayday! Mayday!"

Arlo didn't even need to link into the sensors to see what had happened. The _Hastings _had been hit and given the shouts of its pilot and the curses of Second Squad, it was going down hard. So hard that when Arlo _did _look through the sensors, only a flaming wreck was on the Creep, the seeker spore having hit one of its engines.

Crap.

"Orders captain?" asked Simpson. "Do we abort or-…"

"No, we go in," whispered Arlo in his usual soft voice, trying to sound more in control than he felt. "Second Squad's loss is regrettable, but it only changes the equation slightly."

"Slightly!?" Summers exclaimed. "We've lost 50 percent of our force in an instant and it only changes the equation _slightly_!?"

"Yes," said Arlo simply, shifting his gaze all across First Squad. "Because regardless of how many soldiers we have, we still have a job to do. We have half a dozen Confederate scientists to rescue and either we exit the Flannum Installation with them or not at all."

The dropship started slowing down, Arlo realising that it had run the gauntlet of the Spore Colonies and was preparing to touch down.

"What about the xenomorphs though?" asked PFC Keyes, Summers seemingly tongue tied. "Do we have enough firepower to take them on and get out alive?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not," shrugged Arlo. "But I, for one, intend to find out." He once again gazed around the squad. "Can the rest of you say the same?"

A few seconds passed. A few seconds that to Arlo, felt like eternity. An eternity driven by the fear that Cerberus was not the elite force it was made out to be, that he was working with men who weren't willing to live up to their force's name and head straight into the depths of Tartarus. Men who…were all giving acknowledgement lights on his HUD.

They were in.

_Good, _Arlo thought, as the dropship touched down. He watched the landing ramp open. Darkness awaited them. With a grin reminiscent of his pre military service days, he gave one last look at First Squad.

"Live forever apes," he said softly before bounding out.

With a roar, First Squad followed.

* * *

_A/N_

_This will be the last chapter for awhile, as I'll be spending Christmas in the land of thirty million sheep, four million of which think they're human. Yes, I'm talking about New Zealand. It's doubtful that I'd have connection to the internet there and even if I did, the time I'd be able to spend writing would be minimal. Granted, at this point in time, chapter 7 is fully written and ch. 8 is nearly finished also, but I'd rather post them from my home computer._

_Ironically, for this short hiatus, I'm at the same point in the fic where I decided to reboot it. Not that it's seemingly made the fic much better, the lack of feedback indictive. Frustrating, but if there's a lack of feedback, it's presumably a fault on my part. Not that I have an idea what the major fault is and therefore can't correct it with any ease, but no use whining. I intend to tell the story from start to finish, even if it is something of drastically low quality._

_Anyway, that's all for now. Merry Christmas._


	7. Den of the Beast

_Darkness is cruel. Darkness is patient. _

_It is the dark that seeds oppression in justice. It is the dark that taints love with contempt. It is the dark that presents that which is unknown to us. Darkness is the constant of the universe, swallowing up the sparks of light that are brief lives into its entropy._

_Eventually, even stars burn out._

Ellen Wright, Umojan philosopher

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 7: Den of the Beast**

**2345 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Flannum Installation**

"Watch your backs. This place must be crawling with xenomorphs."

It didn't show visually, but Arlo could not help but be faintly irritated by his superior's comments. It was all very well for him to give pointers and suggestions from his desk, but he didn't have to state the flicking obvious. The xenomorphs had taken control of the Flannum Installation and were currently giving Alpha Squadron hell outside. It was pretty much a given that xenomorphs would be inside the structure.

Looking down the darkened corridor that led from the installation's entrance, illuminated only by flickering lights, Arlo knew that architecture was not in their favor here. Flannum was built into the side of a valley wall, carved out of the rock of Chau Sara. Extensive ventilation was required for its personnel, along with cooling systems. And given that the installation was used for scientific research, Arlo guessed that the place had massive power requirements as well.

"Watch our backs?" murmured Keyes. "Hell, more like watch every side of our bodies…"

The captain didn't bother to discipline his subordinate, silently reflecting that the PFC had a point. He had a map of the installation's workings, the display shown on his HUD in regards to what he saw through his own line of sight. Extensive ventilation ran through the roof above them, numerous ducts and fans present. Below them were maintenance shafts, used by service robots as corridors. Based on what he'd seen of the xenomorphs, Arlo suspected that they could fit into both.

"Alright, form up," he said, prepping one of his flamethrowers in one hand, activating a motion tracker in the other. "Milton and Romesh, you're on rear defense. Rest of you, keep one eye on the ceiling and one eye on the floor in front of you."

General affirmation coursed through his men. In the company of lesser soldiers, Arlo could have expected a few snide remarks or jokes, especially in regards to his "rear" comment. Still, he was among Cerberus-a group of the best soldiers the Confederacy had to offer, though not the most imaginative. Neural resocialization did that to people. Hell, even if he'd been allowed to keep his killer instincts, Arlo was still far less able to imagine ways to use them than he had been in his former life.

"What about the service lines?" asked Summers as the Firebats began moving through the installation. "Who's keeping an eye on them?"

Arlo sighed, though his helmet muffled the sound. Summers had gone through resoc like the rest of them, though the captain suspected that the corporal's was close to expiring or something. Still, he had raised a fair point. though despite a hindered imagination, Arlo had considered them also.

"We shouldn't have to worry about the service ducts," he said. "They're mainly used by maintenance robots, ensuring that they don't get in the way of the staff. As such, there's barely any air in them."

"But there's some, right?"

Arlo shrugged. "Some, I guess. But not enough to sustain a human for long. No-one could remain for more than an hour down there without suffering oxygen deprivation."

Summers fell silent, though whether this was acknowledgement of Arlo's point or simply letting the assumption that the xenomorphs had the same biological constraints as humans wash over the group was unknown. Regardless, the captain didn't care. The xenomorphs were living creatures; they had to get air and energy from somewhere. And even if they _were _able to survive in near vacuum, they were no more resistant to firepower than humans were.

_And that, _thought Arlo as he checked the fuel available in his flamethrowers, _is all that matters_.

That his perdition flamethrowers were full and functioning perfectly was all it took to keep Arlo going through the dark corridors of the installation. The xenomorphs hadn't done much damage to Flannum's structural integrity (apart from the destroyed blast door of course), but had seemingly caused damage to its electrical systems, causing multiple lights to flicker on and off, or simply fade out completely. Still, with his power suit capable of generating infa-red vision and with enough fuel to burn down an entire building, Arlo found himself without unease.

At least he did initially.

"Something's wrong here…" a Firebat murmured eventually. "It's too quiet…"

Arlo remembered that the phrase "it's too quiet" was meant to be some kind of cliché in fiction, but having never read or watched much back on Tarsonis, he couldn't really say. However, he found himself agreeing.

_Something's wrong alright… _he thought to himself. He looked around him for the signs of battle. He saw them too-projectile and flame scarring on the walls, blood both splattered and accumulated in pools… Yet the sources of these scars were absent. There were no bodies, terran or alien…It was if someone, or something wanted to remove the evidence of a battle, yet had only done half the job…

"Colonel," the captain said into his radio. "You certain that the scientists are here?"

"Yes, of course," said Kurze, sounding surprised. "Why?"

"Because if they're here, they seem to be the installation's only occupants."

Silence lingered on the radio for a few seconds, the static filling Arlo's ears. He tuned it down. Even with the infa-red, his vision was not the best it could have been. Hearing would be a very useful sense in this situation.

"Pardon?" asked Kurze eventually. "You mean you've encountered no opposition?"

"Negative sir. There's signs of a battle, but those signs don't include bodies. Living or otherwise."

Another bout of static came before Kurze answered.

"I can't offer an explanation," the lieutenant colonel said, the admission seeming to surprise himself. "But there should be a security room up ahead. Use the security cameras, locate the scientists and get out of their ASAP. Kurze out."

Arlo remained silent. He could see the security room up ahead, or rather the sign that once hung above the door that was now lying on the ground by the arch. Signaling for his team to follow him, Arlo led them through it, their armor thumping down on the broken door with more sound than Arlo would have cared for.

"Alright. Keyes, get on a terminal, see if you can find the egg heads," said the captain. "Rest of you, secure this room."

No affirmation greeted him this time. Like Arlo, his team had seemingly come to value silence. By maintaining it, any break in silence would have to come from an outside source. Just like the sound of broken glass crunching under his armored soles as Arlo made his way around the room.

There wasn't anything too unexpected. A spilled cup of coffee, a half-eaten donut on a desk with scattered paper, empty weapon racks… All the signs that something bad had happened that hadn't left the installation's security detail much time to react.

_Or no time at all, _thought the former serial killer to himself, looking at the blood splattered over the walls haphazardly. When one considered this and the destroyed door, it seemed that the security guards had fought within their own room. Yet like the rest of the installation, there were no bodies to show for it.

"I don't get it," said Summers, breaking the silence. "Where are the bodies? Why are there no bodies!?"

"Burial detail?" asked Private Milton. "You know, getting the fallen to a dignified location?"

Arlo shook his head. "There's hundreds of xenomorphs outside the installation. I doubt the staff are going to worry about the dead. Besides, why give both sets of bodies a burial?"

If any of the team had an answer, they were denied the opportunity to give it, courtesy of Keyes.

"Sir, I've found the missing scientists," the PFC said, glancing around from the terminal he'd used. Arlo came over, neither of them sitting on the chair that wouldn't support their armor.

"Sector four, southwest corner of the installation," said Keyes. "Security cameras are still working…"

Arlo remained silent as the scientists came up on screen. Five scientists to be exact, guarded by a security detail of the same number. From the looks of things, they'd barricaded themselves in a lab with a single entrance. The door was intact, but that hadn't stopped them from barricading the entrance and setting up the desks as cover further away from it. The guards seemed to know what they were doing, but given the haunted look in all twenty eyes in that room, how much longer they were rational was another matter entirely.

"Most of the security system's out of whack," continued Keyes. "Autoguns, flame and missile traps… They're all busted. Still, given the lack of opposition, we may not need them…"

Arlo didn't know what could cause the defenses to short circuit but didn't stop to ask. They had their targets. All Cerberus had to do was extract them and get out of the installation ASAP. Locking the co-ordinates of the scientists into the electronic map he possessed, the captain prepared to do just that.

"Alright, we're moving out," said Arlo to his squad, taking point as he walked back out into the corridor. "Based on what we've seen so far, we shouldn't have much opposition. Still, say frosty…"

No affirmation greeted him. His men simply followed orders as was expected. A relief as it was…

…right now, Arlo wasn't in the mood for anything else unexpected.

* * *

**2357 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Fort Keldathu (current Office of the Colonial Magistrate)**

Edwin Collins was a worried man.

If anyone else had been in what accounted for his office, they would not have been surprised by such a fact. Pacing around endlessly, muttering something under his breath all the while as sweat collected on his forehead, it was obvious that something was bothering the man. _What _was bothering him however, was another matter altogether.

Based on such observations, it would be unlikely that said observer would discover what bothered the magistrate. For starters, "what" was bothering was perhaps not the best term to use. No single problem was on Collins' mind and if it were, he could have easily ignored it. As the case was, it was a set of issues that he had on his mind, the xenomorphs among them.

_What if this gets out? _he wondered. _How far will plausible deniability go?_

Collins suspected that it wouldn't go very far. The existence of life beyond Old Earth was hardly a secret, and had been a known fact since the settlement of the three colonies. The existence of life that not only possessed a degree of sentience but also seemed bent on using that sentience to eradicate humanity was a different kettle of fish entirely. And considering that the Confederacy had been keeping such a secret for years, the revealment of such a secret would hardly be looked kindly upon by its populace.

Still, the Confederacy was good at shifting responsibility. It had portrayed both Moria and Korhal as the aggressors after all, the issues of both planets having been dealt with harshly. And when one considered that it was on Chau Sara that the little beasties had raised their ugly heads and that the planet's magistrate had known of them beforehand…

_I'm the villain here…_ thought Collins, his pacing increasing in speed. _I'm in a prime position to be a scapegoat…_

A naive individual may have assumed that the Confederacy would never do such a thing, that they wouldn't leave one of its members out in the cold to the mercy of jackals. However, Collins had grown up without a sense of naivety and knew that his posting on Chau Sara was an attempt to get him out of the spotlight in the first place. If the spotlight fell on him again, not even Kurze would lift a finger to get him out of it.

"Kurze…" the magistrate murmured, ceasing his pacing and clenching his fist. While one hand shook with fear, the other was clenched with anger.

From the outset, Kurze had suppressed Collins' authority. While he undoubtedly had more experience in this kind of situation, he was willing to do whatever it took to deal with it. And although Collins couldn't give a damn about Alpha Squadron being thrown into the meat grinder to allow Cerberus access to the Flannum Installation, he did care that his authority was being superseded in the matter. Not only had Kurze acted without his consent, but he'd also gone behind his back, accessing data that only Collins should have had access to.

_It's only temporary though. He'll leave when this is over._

The terran shook his head. It wasn't a question of _when_ this was over. It was a question of _if_. And despite his best attempts at reassuring himself otherwise, Collins knew that there was a strong chance that this problem might not have a permanent solution, or if there was, it would be of the same significance as Korhal. And considering how _that _solution had backfired horrendously, Collins somehow doubted that his superiors would be willing to bite the bullet.

_This might be the rest of my life, _thought the magistrate, looking around his room, rubbing a hand against its coarse stone walls. _A footnote in Chau Sara's history…_

Sighing, Collins lay down on his bed, uncaring of the hard mattress. It was late, and his worry had only increased his weariness. He knew that whatever the outcome of the challenges that faced him, there was only so much he could do to overcome them and that he had already played his ace. Whether Kurze or the xenomorphs managed to pull out a better pack of cards was beyond his knowledge. Turning off his light, Collins knew that knowledge was a commodity he was short of right now, robbed of the devices he'd had back in Los Andares.

Devices that might have alerted him to a number of terran ships exiting from warp space above the planet…

* * *

**0007 hours, November 9, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Flannum Installation**

"Fire!"

Arlo sighed as a barrage of projectiles headed his way, courtesy of a security detail that was jumpy, idiotic or both. Firing on instinct in hell's enclave was one thing, but firing at an armored soldier that obviously wasn't one of hell's critters was another. With the bullets reaching their target however, the difference was academic.

So was the effect too for that matter, or lack of it. Arlo had anticipated such a reaction, though it was admittedly Kurze who had first raised the possibility of such a scenario. As such, he'd equipped himself with a force field generator that while may not have done much good against his enemies, would render any light arms fire useless.

_And security grunts dumbfounded too… _thought the captain, standing in the doorway of the lab where the installation's survivors had barricaded themselves, looks of surprise on all their faces.

"Bloody hell…" murmured one of the grunts. "You're not alien. You're…you're human!"

"Oh really?" asked Arlo sarcastically as he walked in, half of his squad following him while the rest positioned them by the entrance. "What gave you the first hint?"

One of the grunts mumbled something, but Arlo didn't know or care what. He had other things on his mind right now, such as making sure the goods he'd been sent to retrieve were still intact. A quick glance at the huddled scientists confirmed that, fear aside, they were ready to continue serving the Confederacy.

It was ironic, really, how scientists had landed Arlo in his current occupation and here he was saving them. Admittedly it was the TPF that had brought his serial killing hobbies on Tarsonis to a close, though it was Confederate scientists that tinkered with his brain, making him loyal to the government against which he'd recently offended. Still, he didn't possess any ill will. Partly as an experiment, partly out of a need for his instincts to be retained in Cerberus, he'd been allowed to keep most of his memories. Kurze had taken note of his 'skills' and wanted Arlo to keep his track record of them. A bit of resoc and the implantation of aggression inhibitors later, Shiff Arlo was ready to serve Council and country.

Overall, he'd come to enjoy it.

"Who…who are you?" one of the scientists asked.

"Your extraction team," the resoc grunted, not in the mood for equivocation. "Follow me."

With that, he began walking out, signaling his team to follow him. He doubted that the scientists understood his hand signals, but knew that they'd follow him regardless. People were like sheep, following the shepherd willingly. And although Arlo had never been into fluffy animals, he ensured that the scientists were in the center of their formation, guarded on all sides by first squad.

"What about us?" asked one of the guards as the Firebats walked off. "Are we getting out of here too?"

Arlo shrugged. "If you're shooting suddenly got better, then you may be able to escape alive."

"What!? You mean there's still hostiles in this place!?"

Arlo sighed, partly due to the guard's idiocy, partly due to Summers laughing.

"Don't worry," the corporal said, looking back at the trailing guards. "All the xenomorphs are outside the installation. The interior is deserted."

"Deserted?" one of the scientists asked. "Completely?"

"Yeah. Even the bodies are gone."

The scientist nodded. "The creep," he said to himself softly. "They've been taken to the creep…"

Arlo stopped short.

The most immediate reaction on his mind was this "creep." He'd never heard of such a thing and although it was none of his business what the Flannum Installation's staff was dealing with. However, the lack of bodies reeked of wrong, and if this "creep" could account for this phenomenon, he wanted to know what it was. That being said however, he would have stopped at this point anyway. The group had come to a cross junction, and basic training taught Arlo to check his corners.

Yet there was another reason for stopping. A reason that had to do with a steady beeping behind him.

"What the hell?" one of the guards murmured, walking forward towards the captain. However, his eyes were not on the Firebat, but rather on a device he was carrying in his hand. A motion sensor.

"What is it?" asked Keyes. "What's wrong?"

"This," said the guard, holding up the motion tracker in front of him. "Incoming contacts…"

Arlo glanced at the motion sensor. It was a simple device, tracking moving objects within a twenty-five meter radius. And judging from the direction, these contacts were coming at them from all directions, except from the lab where they'd rescued the scientists.

"You sure that thing's working?" Arlo asked, all thoughts of creep forgotten.

The guard nodded. "Yeah, it works. That's how we knew you were coming when we opened fire."

The former serial killer remained silent, realizing that perhaps the guards hadn't been so trigger happy after all. On the other hand, if the motion sensor had picked them up, why was it picking up contacts moving towards them? The installation was deserted of man and beast alike. What was going on?

Beep…beep…beep…

"What's going on?" Summers whispered. "Who's coming at us?"

"Not who," said Milton. "What…"

Beep…beep…beep…

Arlo sighed, looking at the now nervous scientists. Trust Milton to stir things up.

"Alright, form up," he said, taking command of the situation. "Firebats in front, guards behind, quacks in the center. "Fire on command."

Silently and efficiently the humans obeyed, the closest any of them getting to the doors being ten meters. It was perhaps a bit risky to make a stand in the center, but the corridors weren't wide enough to accommodate such a long firing line and would risk overlapping fields of fire. Besides, Cerberus trained its operatives to act alone as well as in cohesion, not to mention that the xenomorphs would have to rip through metal doorways. For all their co-ordination, Arlo doubted that the creatures could operate a keypad.

Beep…beep…beep…

"Alright, get ready," said the captain, glancing at the motion tracker. "Here they come…"

Beep…beep…beep…

"Twelve meters…" said the guard.

Beep…beep…beep

"Eleven meters…"

Beep…beep…beep…

"Ten meters…"

Beep…beep…beep…

"N…nine meters…"

"What?" Arlo asked, turning back to face the guard. "How could it be nine meters?"

"I don't know!" the grunt exclaimed, waving his arms around. "How should I know!?"

"Because nine meters is beyond the doorways!"

Beep…beep…beep…

"Eight meters…"

Beep…beep…beep…

"What the flick!?" Keyes exclaimed. "You reading that right!?"

Beep…beep…beep…

"Seven meters," warbled the guard. "It's impossible, but that's what it says!"

"Like hell!" Arlo yelled. "How could it be seven meters!?" We'd see them!"

"Flick, why are they even here!?" Summers yelled. "We searched all the installation and saw nothing! The only way they could get to us is by the corridors or the ventilation or…service…shafts…"

Beep…beep…beep…

The facts hit Arlo all at once.

Fact: Summers had made a valid point.

Beep…beep…beep…

Fact: He'd miscalculated. They hadn't seen any xenomorphs, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Hell, ventilation shafts were a classic hiding place.

Beep…beep…beep…

"Still seven meters…but more are piling up…"

Fact: Who was to say the aliens couldn't survive in near-vacuum? They could travel through space after all.

Beep…beep…beep…

"What!?" shrilled one of the guards. "_What's_ piling up!?

Beep…beep…beep…

Fact: Captain Shiff Arlo had made a fool of himself in assuming that not only were the xenomorphs not there, but that they didn't have the intelligence to wait for the scientists to be extracted so they could butcher them, killing the people who knew how to defeat them.

…

Fact: The beeping had stopped.

"What the hell!?" Summers yelled. "The beeping stopped!"

Fact: Summers was an idiot.

Fact: Xenomorphs were descending from the ceiling and rising from the floor, demonstrating that Summers wasn't the only idiot.

Arlo snapped out of it, letting lose a burst of flame in front of him, screams, gunfire and more flame joining his. Letting instinct take over, the captain processed two more facts before letting rip.

Fact: For all their guile, the xenomorphs could still be killed.

Fact: They were still screwed.

* * *

**0020 hours, November 9, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Lazaran Gulleys, Grid G7**

"Hate to say this Perry…but I think we're screwed."

"Oh really? What gave you the first idea?"

Ducking behind a boulder for cover and to reload her rifle, Wilkes was surprised at Perry's reaction. She'd expected him to chastise her for such comments and/or state that it was important for her to remain focused, not to be faced with a wall of pessimism.

"Well?" asked her subordinate, taking cover behind an adjacent boulder and giving his own rifle reloading treatment. "Why are we screwed?"

Wilkes sighed. This wasn't going as she anticipated. Then again, very little had gone according to plan since touching down on Chau Sara, at least from her point of view.

"Hard to say," said the lieutenant, resting her rifle on the boulder and letting lose a stream of 8mm spikes that gutted one of the oncoming critters. "Maybe it's the fact that we're outnumbered, low on ammo and have no chance of survival?"

"Oh, we have a chance," said Perry, resting his rifle on his own boulder and letting lose a burst of his own, cutting down two of the advancing monstrosities. "Just not a very large one."

Wilkes laughed. "Never thought of you as an optimist."

"I'm not. I'm just a realist."

The conversation may have continued, but the pair had other concerns in mind, specifically the shout of "fire in the hole". Even with the roar of gunfire and the screams of man and alien alike, the marines were able to hear it, courtesy of their suits' aural directional enhancers. As such, they could also here the screeches of more of the critters behind their boulders as shrapnel gutted the xenomorphs.

_Should have thought of that myself, _thought Wilkes as she got to her feet, intent on finding the source of the grenade. She quickly found it, her HUD identifying the Alpha with the C-14 with a smoking grenade barrel as Private Frost.

"You two alright?" he asked, running over.

"Yeah," said Wilkes, getting to her feet. "Yourself?"

Considering that it was at this point that one of the giant snake things emerged from the shadows and decapitated Frost with a single swipe of its right scythe, it was almost an academic question. And considering that it folded back its upper carapace plates, ready to launch a volley of armor piercing spines, Wilkes knew her own well being could be rendered moot in a matter of seconds.

As such, she began firing.

_That's it, _she thought as the spikes tore into the hydra-esque creature. _Let's see how you like it._

Given its screeches, it didn't like it. Unlike its smaller brethren however, it was able to take the punishment far more easily, advancing on the terran with surprising speed. Even at point blank range, it was able to raise its left scythe up, to bring it down for the killing blow.

_Oh my God, _thought Wilkes. _This is it._

It would have been, if not for a barrage of gunfire from Perry, his rifle's spikes tearing into the creature's exposed arm (or at least what substituted for an arm), the force of the projectiles tearing it off. No matter however. It raised its left scythe…

Only to drop dead, Wilkes' fire having found its mark in its skull.

"Tough little bastards aren't they?" asked Perry, walking over to the creature and letting a burst of his own into its forehead, either for good measure, vindication or a combination of the two.

"Little?" asked Wilkes, leaning back against her original boulder. "They're taller than any of us."

Perry shrugged. "I guess. Still, considering that…ma'am, you alright?"

None of the marines had their visors polarized, the darkness of night ensuring that there was no light to reflect apart from their own chest and shoulder mounted illuminators. Illuminators that highlighted the tears running down Wilkes' face.

"I didn't sign up for this," she said softly. "I signed up to see the universe, not fight…fight _monsters_."

Perry remained silent, the only sounds being the sounds that had been present for what felt like a lifetime. Gunfire, explosions, screams…more screams. Yet the sound that she didn't hear, the sound that she'd been anticipating, was the sound of scathing criticism from the staff sergeant. The sergeant who'd knelt down to her level.

"I know," said Perry kindly. "None of us signed up for this and I doubt even the resocs are enjoying it much. But we have to keep at it."

"Why?" asked Wilkes bluntly.

"Because these creatures won't stop until every one of us are dead, and that Cerberus may be the only unit with the ability to defeat them. They've already lost both their Skullders (Wilkes shuddered at this, remembering how the pilots had been torn apart whilst still in their vehicles) and there's no telling what hell they're going through in the Flannum Installation."

Wilkes grunted. "Could have fooled me."

"Maybe," said Perry. "But there's also this to consider."

And with that, he fired.

It was a strange feeling, expecting to be dead and realizing a few seconds later that you weren't, that in fact the only thing that was dead was the critter that had been sneaking up behind you, ready to sink its claws into the back of your neck. It was even stranger for Perry to be extending a hand down to help you up.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

Wilkes nodded, accepting his offer. She came to accept a lot of things, among them were that monsters existed and that she had no choice but to fight or die.

"Thanks," she said simply. "I needed that."

Perry remained silent, even while Wilkes used her radio, liasoning with those left of her platoon, ordering them to converge on their location. The battle lines had been broken, with every man and xenomorph fending for their self. Sticking together in groups would increase their chances of survival. This, Perry knew, because of common sense. However, he did not know the full story.

He did not know that Wilkes was gathering her men together to ensure as many of them survived as possible as opposed to killing as many of the xenomorphs as possible.

He did not know that Wilkes was now completely willing to fight the xenomorphs, was willing to fight monsters.

He did not know that she was so willing because finally, after all this time, she could serve the Confederacy without being a monster herself.

He did not know any of these things. But he suspected them.

And surprising himself in the process, realizing that they'd both changed each other for the better, he respected her all the more for it.

* * *

**0022 hours, November 9, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Flannum Installation**

Beep…beep…beep…

It was strange really, how even in the midst of the gunfire, screeches and jets of flame, Arlo could still hear the beeping of the motion tracker. An annoyance, but one that he couldn't deal with. Not only were his hands tied with xenomorphs, but he wasn't sure where the arms of the guard that had been holding it had landed when the xenomorphs had disemboweled him.

Beep…beep…beep…

_Shut up, shut up, shut up! _Arlo thought as he kicked one of the smaller critters away with his armored leg, letting lose a burst of flame at one of the larger snake creatures. He'd learnt quickly that they were the greater threat and had to be dealt with such, seemingly more developed and by default, deadly, xenomorph strains. Over two meters in height, baleful orange eyes, curved scythes for arms and the ability to fling armor-piercing spines gave that impression.

_Still, at least they burn easily._

If his circumstances hadn't been so desperate, Arlo would have been able to derive some satisfaction from seeing one of the monsters experience a slow and painful death. However, despite its screeches as its carapace boiled, the corridor filling up with the scent of burnt flesh, Arlo knew that it met little in the long run. More xenomorphs came out of the air ducts and maintenance tunnels. The trap had been sprung, and they wouldn't rest until their enemies were dead.

_Or taken into the creep…whatever that is._

Arlo glanced back at the scientists in the middle of Cerberus' ever-shrinking protective ring, all of them cowering in fear and at least one of them in a puddle of his own urine. The sight of it made the Firebat's nose twitch, despite not being able to smell it due to his CMC-660's filtering system. Still, he supposed it was better than lying in a pool of your own blood, which all but two of the security guards had succeeded in doing. The projectiles from their AGR-14s had been accurate, but lacking Cerberus' powered combat suits, they were exceptionally vulnerable to their alien foes, the smoke from burnt flesh not helping their vision either.

_Christ, I never even learnt their names, _Arlo thought to himself. _If we get out of this, the report will be hell to write._

Despite his training and neural resocialization, the former killer shuddered, not liking the key word in that sentence.

As such, he resolved to turn "if" into "when."

Arlo had learnt how to assess a situation with just a glance, a technique that he managed to pull off once more. It didn't take much mental effort to deduce that Cerberus' situation was grim-the squad was outnumbered, cut off and at least in Arlo's case, was running dangerously low on fuel. True, he could take down one of the doglike creatures with his augmented strength, but not only were they pouring into the corridor in excessive numbers, but the Cirion Multinational Corporation hadn't accounted for giant snakes when designing their powered armor series. However, they _had _accounted for closed doors…

Napalm rockets weren't standard issue for the CMC-660 Heavy Combat Suit, but Cerberus always got dibs on new technology. However, they were designed for long range combat, not the close quarters battle that was currently ranging. However, Arlo knew that he had to get his squad and the scientists past the door that led towards the installation's entrance. However, not only would he have to enter the correct code, but he'd have to fight his way past hell's minions and continue to fight them off while doing so.

A rocket on the other hand…

It was a long shot. The rockets has an explosive yield, but were primarily used for incendiary purposes. Then again, as the body of another security guard went flying over him, Arlo was willing to take that chance. He turned to the north door, pinpointed his target, and fired.

A number of xenomorphs were killed, but not only due to napalm. Shards of flying metal tended to do that.

"Cerberus, let's move!" the captain yelled, his squad reeling from the blast just as much as the xenomorphs. "Grab a scientist and move out, double time!"

Picking up two scientists and slinging them over his shoulders, leaving Summers empty handed, Arlo knew he had to move quickly. Part of napalm's effectiveness was due to its ability to suck up surrounding oxygen, which would result in the scientists' suffocation. Cerberus were fine, their suits providing them with life support and NBC shielding, but they were expendable. The scientists weren't.

"_Normandy_, this is Captain Shiff Arlo," yelled the Firebat into his radio. "We've extracted the scientists and need immediate dust-off."

"Rodger that, _Normandy _moving on station. Everything alright down there?"

Considering the screams of the last security guard as he was torn apart, the screeches of the xenomorphs, the wailing of the scientists, Summers' whining and that Cerberus would have to run like a bat out of hell to get to the extraction point in time, Arlo decided not to justify that question with a response.

* * *

Through the eyes of its minions, the being watched.

For all their bravery, the Swarm's enemies could not stem the tide. Keep it at bay, yes, but not indefinitely. After all, the Swarm was eternal. The being was eternal. These frail creatures however, these _humans_ were not. Even if they did escape its wrath, they were doomed to die after one and a half centuries at the most.

Watching them flee down the corridors of their base, its minions in pursuit, the being wondered if these terrans were worth it. While the galaxy was not devoid of life, few species had reached sentience and from experience, the being had found it far simpler to eradicate them. Only the Firstborn were worthy of full assimilation, those with _Purity of Form_. A purity that had granted them incredible psionic powers that could be the determinant in the inevitable conflict with the Creators' children. _Purity of Form _and _Purity of Essence _would clash…and combine.

Before that could happen however, humanity's psionic potential had to be assimilated, or at least that was what the being believed. So far however, this species had produced nothing but disappointment. Taken into the pure substance that was creep, the psionic potential was indeed there, but had yet to manifest. A few generations might see humanity develop into a psionic power, but despite having seen the passing of countless millennia, the being was not keen on waiting for that to happen. Not only did this species leaders inhibit psychic development, but the Swarm had already made their presence known. They were in the shadow of the Firstborn, of Aiur, and as far as the being knew, its enemies were unaware of the Swarm's existence.

_Perhaps I overestimated this species_, thought the being. _Perhaps their potential is indeed lacking…_

In a sense, its enemies had achieved a victory, extracting their precious scientists and were within sight of one of their landing craft. However, the being was willing to let them go, was willing to give humanity a victory in exchange for learning more about them, how they would react to the information they had collected on the Swarm. A determined species to be sure, but that meant nothing. Determination had not availed its creators or the countless species it had eradicated to ensure the Swarm remained pure. What did these terrans possess that set them apart from its former enemies?

Given how one of their soldiers tripped and was subsequently torn apart by its minions as the landing craft took off, the being knew the answer…

Very little.

* * *

**0039 hours, November 9, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, ****Chau Sara (geo-stationary orbit)**

_**Discovery**_**-class science vessel **_**Charon**_

Xavier Kurze was satisfied.

Satisfied, but not pleased, to be exact. If he were pleased, not only would he have tucked into a glass of Benson Cognek by now, but the mission would have gone without losing six Cerberus Firebats, five of them due to a crummy pilot, and the bulk of Echo Company. Grunts, of course, all of them expendable, but useful tools just the same.

On the other hand, the mission had been a success. Six Flannum scientists had been extracted, all of them in good physical condition, the xenomorphs had taken a beating from Alpha Squadron in addition to dishing out one themselves and the remaining Blood Hawks were being evacuated, courtesy of their APCs and dropships provided by Cerberus.

_Could be worse, _Kurze thought to himself, ceasing his pacing around his office and returning to his desk chair. _Could have been much worse._

Feeling tired, a weariness felt even in his cybernetic graft, Kurze considered popping off where he was sitting. However, he fought against the temptation. There was still one lose end to tie up. A lose end consisting of a small fleet of Alpha Squadron ships that had emerged from warp space. Not entirely unexpected, but not entirely prepared for either, all things considered. Kurze knew a lot, but Confederate High Command knew even more. And given that his desk's transceiver was blinking, they evidently knew his office's frequency and wanted the fleet's leader to contact him directly.

_Or they're doing it on their own accord, _Kurze thought as he hit the _receive _button and waited for the ceiling's hologram projector to power up. _Don't they know what time it is? Don't they know that contacting the bridge is far more formal?_

As the hologram formed, it was obvious that Colonel Edmund Duke didn't…

* * *

_A/N_

_Why yes, there are references to _Aliens _and _Doctor Who _in this chapter. How could you tell? :)_

_Suffice to say, I wanted to diverge from Mission 3 and the two medias provided the inspiration as to how I could do that. In the game, the zerg are encountered as you would expect in an installation mission, attacking the player in groups, often through unburrowing. However, I didn't feel this would make good story material. Regular appearances would greatly reduce the ammount of tension I could sustain, would be somewhat monotomous in the light of previous/simultanious action sequences and wouldn't really do the zerg justice. They're intelligent creatures, or at least used intelligently by higher strains (or Kerrigan as the case is in the future). Somehow, the protagonists had to realize this too._

_Concerning the hiatus between ch. 5 and ch. 6...firstly due to the trip to New Zealand. Secondly was the release of _I, Mengsk_. I've been unable to get my hands on the book due to Australia's strict copyright laws (don't know the details, just guarantees a delay in the arrival of outside books...or something) but have still familiarized myself with the storyline. Among said storyline is that Korhal's destruction is distinctly portrayed as occurring in 2491, as opposed to the earlier assumed date of 2498 as per Mengsk's comments in _Rebel Yell_. Not exactly a retcon, but certainly shifted the timeline around a bit, as most of _StarCraft_'s dates are relative, rather than absolute. As such, I spent some time revising the previous chapters to match the new info. May have missed a few spots, but hopefully the bulk of it is up to date with recent canon._


	8. Powerplays

"_Between every battle, between every war, there is a short, all-too brief time of peace. At the basic level this is referred to as R&R, yet the term does not do the period justice. For in the intermission between every bout of horror, one hopes that sane minds will prevail, that those with reason will triumph over those who plough into conflict."_

"_More often than not however, insanity prevails."_

Tobias Pullman, Confederate Army (retired)

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 8: Powerplays**

The being was eternal. The being was immortal. The being would never die. That being said however, this did not mean that it could not learn.

It always learned. It always evolved.

It had indeed learnt much from the fighting in and around the Flannum Installation, had been able to ascertain the strengths and weaknesses of its enemies. A somewhat rare process, all things considered. Its creators had detailed such traits of all the species they had played a hand in guiding, giving the being their location and how best to assimilate or eradicate them. These humans were different however, in not only had the Wanderers From Afar seemingly played no role in guiding them, yet were still capable of prompting it to analyse their traits rather than eradicate or eliminate them wholesale.

Actions that the being could undertake easily of course. But this close to the Firstborn, it could not afford any mistakes.

As such, it learned.

As such, it evolved.

As such, it decided its next course of action, relaying its directives to all its commanding strains throughout the Swarm. The next card would be played. The game would continue.

It would continue through the beginning of true war...

* * *

**2340 hours, November 10, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

_**Explorer**_**-class science vessel **_**Charon**_

"This is outrageous! Here I am, minding my own business-…"

"Magistrate…"

"When suddenly, out of the blue, I get a bunch of eggheads-…"

"_Magistrate_…"

"…and Alpha hicks who-…"

"I heard that!" shouted Colonel Edmund Duke, the three way transmission carrying his voice from the _Dauntless_, right down to what was currently Collins' office. And given how the magistrate shut up immediately, it was evident that the former fleet captain heard him in turn.

_Good_, thought Kurze, silently thankful that Alpha Squadron's commander had calmed things down. _He was beginning to annoy me._

Sighing, the lieutenant colonel leant back in his chair, briefly closing his eyes. He was tired…not from lack of sleep, though that had indeed been lacking in recent times, but from the knowledge that as far as the campaign on Chau Sara had progressed, there was still a long way to go. And Collins demanding an explanation for "actions that make no sense" wasn't helping matters.

"My apologies colonel," said Collins, his tone of voice unusually reconciliatory. "It won't happen again."

Duke simply grunted, sounding like the great apes of Old Earth that he was so often compared to. The meeting was without visuals, but Kurze doubted that Duke had changed much from the profile pics he'd examined a few hours ago. Gray hair, a hard jaw, a drawl from the south of one of Old Earth's major countries…typical gung ho material that could walk the walk, unless said walk included recapturing Sarah Kerrigan after the destruction of the Fujita Facility.

Kurze smiled. An embarrassing incident for the Confederacy, but more so for the colonel that let Ghost No. 24 slip through his fingers…

"Anyway," continued Collins. "While I have no grudge against what's left of Echo Company, I do take issue with those scientists here."

"What, they may increase your IQ or something?" sneered Kurze.

"Yes," said Collins. Silence, until, "Wait, no! What I meant is-…"

"Fear not magistrate, I'll find them new accommodation," laughed the Cerberus commander, marveling how in the face of an alien invasion, Collins could still provide him with a source of humor, marveling at how after all he'd seen and done, he was still capable of experiencing such an emotion to this extent. "They have the right to be with people of significance."

Collins growled from the other end of the line, sounding like…well, like something that growled. Like a dog perhaps, but apart from guard dogs, Kurze had never been one for canines.

"Listen, Kurze," snarled the magistrate. "I accept that you had authority over this operation. But times have changed. Colonel Duke is here and he outranks you."

"So?" Kurze asked.

"So it's his decision as to how best to proceed," said Collins smugly. "And I'm sure that he'll have respect for the person who alerted him to the xenomorph threat in the first place."

_What? _Kurze wondered.

"What?" Duke asked. "What you on about, boy?"

"The transmission I sent you," said the magistrate, a hint of doubt in his voice. "The request for aid I made."

"Request for aid!?" Kurze thundered. "What the hell is going on here?"

Duke grunted. "Hell if I know, L. C. High command tells me to divert to Chau Sara, I don't question why."

"High command?" Collins asked, desperation now evident in his voice. "But…I contacted you during the attack on the Flannum Installation. Someone nearby who outranked the lieutenant colonel. Someone who would run things by the book. Someone who…who…"

Kurze smiled. So ignorant. So helpless.

"Don't know what you're talking about," grunted Duke. "I didn't receive any transmission from you. Where'd you send it to?"

"Antiga Prime. The _Norad II _specifically."

"Waste of time. I'd transferred to the _Dauntless _days ago. Some UNN reporter is on my flagship and high command deemed it prudent to leave him in the dark. Your orders never reached me."

Silence descended upon the line, broken only by the faint hiss of static. Nothing wrong with the transmission, but in the absence of any speech, it was the only thing to break the silence of the universe…the sound of the universe itself, the residual energy from its birth. However, all things had to come to an end and Kurze took it upon himself to do so.

"Interesting play Collins," said the Cerberus commander slowly. "Bringing in someone who'd strip me of your command, give you a modicum of power in accordance with standard colonial protocol, ensuring that the transmission was discreet…I'm impressed."

"This isn't over!" yelled Collins. "Duke outranks you, I'm magistrate of this colony and-…"

"True on both counts," interrupted the lieutenant colonel. "But both irrelevant."

"What?" asked Collins. So did Duke for that matter.

"You breached confidentiality and I'm well within my right to strip you of your position," said Kurze. "I say _my _right, because regardless of Duke's superior rank, Confederate High Command has given me full jurisdiction over this entire planet. And that includes Alpha Squadron."

"That's outrageous!" yelled Alpha's commander. "I outrank you! I'm older than you! I'm Edmund Duke of the Old Duke Family and-…"

"Are an asset, nothing more!" Kurze retorted. "An asset that CHC decided to send to help me because Echo Company has suffered over ninety percent casualties and dealing with alien invaders is a far cry away from patrolling the Sara System and hosting nosy reporters! And until that time comes, you will answer to me." He paused, partly to regain his bearings, partly for dramatic effect. Eventually, he spoke;

"Both of you."

The static returned. A static broken only by Collins signing off and Duke muttering various profanities under his breath, about how high command was composed of morons, how the _Dauntless _was an inferior ship to the _Norad II_, how Michael Liberty (whoever that was) and UNN had screwed up everything…Kurze sighed. The Duke Family were nuts. So were all of the Old Families for that matter.

"You done yet?" the Cerberus commander asked.

Duke sighed. "Alright Kurze, I'll play your game. Give me something to do I guess. What about Collins though?"

Kurze snorted. "He called for help that was already coming and revealed his breach of confidentiality over the radio with me on it. What else could that idiot do?"

"Alert the populace? Kick up a fuss?"

Kurze's visage darkened, glad that the colonel couldn't see it. He had an image to maintain, regardless of how deformed his face was. He didn't want Duke to see him worried…

"I have a feeling that keeping Chau Sara's population unaware of the xenomorphs may not be possible for much longer," he said darkly. "I think that's why high command sent you colonel. Things could get ugly and…well, we all know that's your area of expertise."

"Er…right," said Duke, seemingly unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. "What now though?"

"Now," said Kurze, bringing up a file from his desk, "I tell you what I think you need to know."

"What!? What you _think _I need to know!?"

The lieutenant colonel chuckled. "A capable commander (Kerrigan aside of course) and clown rolled into one package. CHC had made a great choice.

"Chain of command, Edmund," said Lieutenant Colonel Xavier Kurze. "You're the dog and I'm the one holding the chain around your neck. Get used to it."

* * *

**2359 hours, November 10, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Fort Keldathu (exterior)**

Wilkes was tired.

"No rest for the wicked" was a phrase that she was familiar with and if there was any truth to it apart from general belief, one could have argued that Alpha Squadron was some kind of evil entity, or at least what remained of Echo Company. Alpha Squadron itself was fine, the reinforcements Duke had brought with him marching around the fort's perimeter and manning its walls, their movement only lacking a standard bearer. Not that banners had ever been used by soldiers in the Koprulu Sector, but still, the lieutenant wouldn't have found them out of place right now. All of the Squadrons had their own insignia after all.

Wilkes smiled bitterly as she leant against the fort's wall, armor cast aside as she kept her eyes closed. The ground was dirty, it was cold and all she had were black trousers and a t-shirt of the same color-underclothing for power armor rather than designed to protect its wearer against the elements. It would render her clothing more brown than black by the night's end, but even so, what was left of the company had taken to wearing black armbands over the last few days, commemorating the fallen. Fallen still lingering in the Lazaran Gullies, provided the xenomorphs had any respect for the dead.

Somehow, she doubted it.

"You look like you've seen better days," came a voice, one that the lieutenant was familiar with. More than she'd been a few weeks ago.

"I didn't give you permission to speak freely," she murmured, not moving from her position.

"Nor did Fisher give us permission to slack on the job."

"Fisher can go to hell."

Perry chuckled, taking a seat beside her. "My thoughts exactly."

Opening her left eye, Wilkes saw that Perry was in similar attire and in a similar physical condition, the only difference being that his armor was nowhere in sight. Probably academic, considering that what was left of Echo Company was entitled to get a tune up after the hell they'd been through, but Fisher would probably find some reason to draw blood. With most of his former officers dead or crippled, new ones had been assigned by Duke. Officers that Fisher couldn't fault yet and probably wouldn't be able to, considering that they'd come from Alpha's CO. For the foreseeable future, Perry would remain his prime target. Somehow, Wilkes envied him.

She knew why also. Fisher and Perry at their necks was a hallmark of the old days. Days where Wilkes and the rest of Alpha Squadron played the role of executioners rather than defending humanity from aliens. Simpler days, even if there was less moral integrity. But maybe that was worth losing, all things considered. They'd both changed in the process, becoming more like their counterpart…

Whatever. All she wanted to do now was sleep.

* * *

**0008 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Fort Keldathu (current Office of the Colonial Magistrate)**

Collins felt like…like…well, he wouldn't have admitted it, but he didn't know what he felt like. Apart from a desire for the scotch he was currently pouring himself at regular intervals over the last few days. That much was certain.

Admittedly his consumption of alcohol may have been part of the reason why he didn't know what he felt like, but if so, it wasn't the only reason. Fear, worry, resentment, anger…A wide range of emotions were coursing through his mind, the alcohol coursing through his body not making it any easier to deal with them.

"This is ridiculous," he murmured, pouring himself another glass of the devil's poison. "This is absolutely flicking ridiculous."

He could have used other adjectives to describe his situation, but despite having his 'office' all to himself, he was determined to maintain what was left of his dignity. Not that there was much to maintain, but if his fears were confirmed, he'd soon end up with none whatsoever.

Deciding that he'd had enough booze for one night (or morning, according to the clock); the magistrate lay on his bed, pondering his predicament. Breaching confidentiality, trying to get the better of Kurze by bringing in Duke, recklessly revealing his actions in front of the man of his distaste, the same man that still had authority over Chau Sara.

_It doesn't matter, _Collins thought to himself. _I'm still magistrate of this colony. That has to count for something._

Given that his pager was beeping, registering an emergency frequency that conveyed issues to him ASAP so that he could prepare to deal with them as soon as possible, this issue prompting his face to change color faster than a set of traffic lights, that seemed to be the case…

* * *

**0012 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Fort Keldathu (interior)**

"So…you think it's over?"

…

"Captain? You listening?"

…

"**Captain!"**

"Huh?" asked Arlo, spinning around to his remaining companions, or at least spinning as his power armor let him. "What did you say?"

Lying against the walls of the fort's interior, his three remaining subordinates smiled at him. Faintly, of course, their training having taught them to keep control over their emotions, but having completed a harrowing mission and each with a can of _Happy Jack's Ale _in hand, the exception was understandable.

"I asked if you thought it was over," said Romesh, taking a sip of his alcoholic beverage. "You know, the war against the xenomorphs."

Arlo snorted. "War? That's a bit much isn't it private?"

"Maybe," put in Keyes. "But you never know…"

His subordinates went about debating as to whether the scientists/eggheads that they rescued from the Flannum Installation would be able to come up with some kind of viral superweapon to wipe them out and if said superweapon would also affect humans, causing them to rise from their graves. Or at least something out of a B-rated horror movie. Arlo had certainly seen a few back on Tarsonis. But still, given the current situation, war or not, this was hardly the time for making jokes. However, he decided to let it pass. They'd earnt that much.

_What about Summers though? _Asked a voice at the back of his mind. _If he was here, you'd think differently, wouldn't you?_

Sighing and leaning against the wall too, Arlo didn't deny that. Summers had been the focus of the bulk of his chastization for so long, that without him, he was having a tough time redirecting it. Getting torn to shreds by alien invaders tended to leave one with vacancies.

It wasn't exactly guilt that he was feeling over the loss of the corporal, not to mention Second Squad who would have lasted a few minutes at best after their dropship was shot down, provided they survived the landing. However, training stressed the virtue of looking back on his actions, pondering whether he could have done any better. Like guilt, but without the misery.

_Then again, I probably wouldn't feel it anyway, _Arlo thought, catching a can tossed to him by Milton. _I trained myself even before the Confederacy got hold of me._

The CO knew that he was unique among his men in that the neural resocialization he'd undergone upon his introduction to Cerberus was driven by needs similar to the ones pertinant to the usual criminals conscripted into the Confederate Marine Corps, or on occasion, the squadrons. Neural resocialization had its advantages-willingness to follow orders, giving motivations for fighting… However, disadvantages existed-initial disorientation, vulnrabilities to stress and if a superior switched allegiance, his men would follow suit with little objection. Far from common, but if say, Colonel Duke chose to do something as rediculous as join the Sons of Korhal (like _that _would ever happen), then his men would follow suit.

Overall, despite all the boons of resocialization, it was generally agreed that volunteers made better soldiers, hence why the squadrons had a far lower percentage of resocs than other branches of the Confederate Armed Forces. True, in some cases they were high, such as Omega Squadron and its near fanatical "Death Heads", but with the likes of the Blood Hawks and Hellbringers, their professionalism was attributed to a lack of artificial memories, rather than an abundance of them. In the case of Cerberus however, given the confidential nature of its missions, all of its members underwent at least some resocialization, specifically loyalty to their commanders and subconscious mental conditioning that lessened the chances of them breaching confidentiality. In essence, the best that resoc could bring without any side effects. All in all, Cerberus had perhaps the highest percentage of volunteers of all the squadrons engaged in actual combat.

_Yet I was made a captain. A captain who was a former criminal and ends up losing six men as a result._

Arlo took a deep sip of alcohol. He was lapsing into guilt. Yes, he lost six men two days ago. Yes, the entire security detail was lost. Yet all of the scientists were evacuated, and so what if he was a former serial killer? Did that make him an evil person? Perhaps, but despite all he'd seen and done, Arlo didn't believe in a fundamental distinction between what was moral and what was not. People did what they did, based on a variety of external and internal influences. And besides, if he hadn't committed acts of murder, he would have never ended up serving humanity.

So who was to say that murder was wrong, given the results?

Quite a few, all things considered. But with his past a haze due to the additional resocialization he underwent, and given that moral debate wasn't in his job description, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he did his job when the time came. Alpha Squadron had been reinforced and would probably take a central role, but that didn't mean Cerberus was down and out…

…and despite three days of R&R, Arlo doubted the xenomorphs were either.

* * *

**0017 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

_**Behemoth**_**-class battlecruiser **_**Dauntless**_

"I think that's all. Any questions, Edmund?"

Sitting in his command chair on his ship's bridge, Colonel Edmund Duke of Alpha Squadron outwardly gave the impression of control. Only a telepath would have been to realize that internally, while control was still maintained, the impression did not do reality justice. An effort was being made to keep control and although Duke had managed to keep it so far, the future was less definite.

_Look at him, talking like he's the king of the universe. Calling me by my first name, Garth would be in a laughing fit by now. Oh I'd like to get my hands around his neck and-…_

"Colonel?"

Duke blinked. "Yes, sir. I read you. Alpha Squadron is at your beck and call."

No-one else was on the bridge of the _Dauntless, _as per what amounted to a night shift. As such, the chuckle that Kurze gave echoed throughout the room, surrounding the colonel. He felt suffocated by it. He hated losing control and Kurze knew it.

"Beck and call…I like that," said the Cerberus commander. "I was right in my assessment that CHC made the right choice in sending you here-I need to keep my morale up after all."

Duke snorted by a disgruntled rhynadon. He doubted that anyone in Cerberus understood the concept.

"But anyway, we have time for fun and games later," Kurze continued, switching to formality effortlessly. "You're right in a sense that Alpha Squadron is at my disposal, but that doesn't mean you're out of the loop entirely."

"Oh?" Duke asked, his voice betraying his eagerness. Maybe he wasn't as removed from control as he thought.

Kurze nodded, his image on the vid-screen being replaced by a two-dimensional map of Chau Sara, lines of longitude and latitude cutting through it. The only other points of note were a few red dots, marking the few settlements on the planet. In its northern hemisphere, E157, N467, Los Andares being the focal hub. The rest of the planet however, was mostly uninhabited.

"Chau Sara is a small world as we both know," came Kurze's voice. "But it has a small population in a small area. And as such, we have little indication on the ground as to where the xenomorphs have established their base of operations and our-…"

"Base of operations!?" Duke snorted. "They're bugs! They don't even understand the concept!"

"Colonel, those _bugs_, as you call them, destroyed the _Vigilance_, decimated Echo Company, cost me half of Captain Shiff Arlo's team and overran the Flannum Installation," said Kurze testily, his voice laced with acid. "They're not dumb, they're not harmless and may I remind you that if you hadn't failed to recapture the _Hyperion _nearly a decade ago, we'd still have the larva samples the Sons of Korhal stole from Fujita and probably wouldn't be second guessing what the xenomorphs' actions are!"

Duke grimaced. He knew all too well…he should be a general by now, but oh no, Mengsk saw fit to screw him over…

"Anyway," said Kurze, his voice returning to normal, "Alpha Squadron is the best unit I have right now."

"What about Cerberus?"

Kurze ignored him. "Containment is our primary issue here, both in terms of logistics and communications. The _Charon _alone has the capacity to handle the latter, but in terms of the former, we don't have the capacity for a stakeout. As such, we need Alpha Squadron to find the xenomorphs' base of operations."

Duke nodded, prompted by Kurze's visage returning to the screen. "Alright L. C., I'll play your game. I have five companies at my disposal, all trained in rapid deployment. We should be able to find…Kurze? What you up to?"

If the Cerberus commander heard him, he gave no indication. Instead, he was looking at something off screen, presumably a laptop or something similar.

"Kurze?" Duke asked, getting impatient. "Damit boy, answer me! I agreed to a stakeout, the least you can do is-…"

"Colonel, prep your men," said Kurze hoarsely. "Their target is Los Andares."

Duke snorted. "Los Andares? Think the xenomorphs are in the sewers or something?"

"Probably. But they're also on the surface too…"

Duke fell silent.

"I just got a transmission from Collins," said Kurze, his gaze returning to Duke's, his organic eye conveying his concern. "Breach of confidentiality aside, it seems that he's still in contact with his old office in the capital."

"And?" Duke asked. "What did they tell him?"

Silence descended upon the bridge. Silence broken only by Duke's heavy breathing. He knew what was coming, and was ready to face it. And despite the weariness in his voice, Xavier Kurze was ready too.

"Los Andares is under attack. By the xenomorphs. They've begun open war."

* * *

_A/N_

_It's strange, in a sense. Usually, I find battles the hardest things to write for. Yet in contrast, I found chapter 7 to be far easier to write for than this one. _

_Part of the issue to deal with is the time lapse. It doesn't help that in the game, the first three missions take place on the 8th (though the third mission could have easily extended to the 9th, which I did) and then we have the last two on the 12th. In a sense, that's four days of...nothing. And it makes little sense that the Cerberus commander tells the player character that the scientists have been taken to Chau Sara's main stronghold (which I created as Fort Keldathu), 3-4 days after the player character rescued them, with Collins suddenly barging in, letting everyone know that Los Andares is under attack. Oh, and Duke comes out of nowhere at that point too, leading the attack (yet a lieutenant is commanding him. Go figure)._

_(Probably worth pointing out that I chose to split the player character for this story, alternating between Fisher and Wilkes. Fisher for the rank and numbers, Wilkes for the persona)._

_As such, I had trouble with this chapter, wanting to spread it out over a few days, yet still keeping the "aftermath" feel of a harrowing fight against the zerg. Segmentation isn't really my thing however, though it did allow an opening to give my take on the nature of Cerberus, prompted by Nodikus' comments (thanks again). After all, for all I know, Cerberus Recon Squad is just that-a single squad, though I interpreted it as being akin to the rest of the Squadrons-specialized and while small, larger than what we see in the game. Suffice to say, a take on the nature of their neural resocialization was also appropriate._

_One final note-I haven't completed chapter 9 yet at this time of writing as not only is it a 'battle chapter' (no prizes for guessing where) and the temperatures have been in the mid thirties over the last week. Sitting at a computer in such heat isn't that appealing. And as I start jury duty on the 27th, my time will become limited and as a result, gaps may appear between updates. However, this doesn't mean I won't continue writing-far from it. However, I'm afraid that it's likely that updates won't be as regular._

_I think I've ranted enough now..._


	9. Force of Arms

"_The city of Los Andares has fallen under attack by a large force of the xenomorphs. Colonel Duke himself has volunteered to aid you in retaking the city. Good luck, men. Los Andares and the Confederacy are counting on you."_

Dispatch to all Alpha Squadron troops on Chau Sara from Magistrate Edwin Collins, 11/12/99

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 9: Force of Arms**

**0601 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**M1 Highway (main road to Los Andares)**

It was funny how pieces of bullshit stuck in your mind. And marching down the M1 Highway with about a thousand other Alpha Squadron troops, plus the remaining Hellbringers, Robert Perry's mind was full of it. Admittedly it had built up over the years, red tape and the destruction of Korhal IV having made the entire Koprulu Sector FUBAR, but the message he and the rest of the Blood Hawks had received a few hours ago from Magistrate Collins had really taken the cake.

"Dear Alpha Squadron, the capital of this planet is under attack and you're being thrown right into the meat grinder," he murmured bitterly, not knowing nor caring whether anyone else heard him. "Never mind that we haven't had time to gather intelligence. Never mind that we have no idea of the size of the xenomorph force. Never mind that we haven't been given any directives apart from entering the city and shooting anything that isn't human. Jesus Christ what the flick are those flicking sons of motherflickers thinking in their flicked up-…"

"Perry, even NCOs have to know when to keep their mouths shut."

Grimacing, the staff sergeant glanced at his superior, who was currently marching alongside him. There was a time when he wouldn't have cared what the lieutenant heard him say and although that status quo was maintained, the reasons had changed to an extent-more personal, less professional. Still, the Alphas around him were a different story, at least the ones who weren't neurally resocialized. However, that percentage was much lower than many other Confederate units and it wouldn't do morale any good for a superior to be questioning his orders.

"Sorry ma'am," said Perry cordially. "It won't happen again."

"Fair enough," said Wilkes sadly. "But don't hold back too much. I think there's going to be plenty of cursing before this day is out."

Perry averted his gaze. He knew that his co-commander was leaving out that there'd be plenty of death and destruction too. Not because she didn't care, but because it didn't need saying. Even heading along the highway, the signs of destruction were clear. The few civilians who'd made it out of the city alive had passed on tales of the horrors they'd seen, horrors that had pursued them up most of the highway. Others, as the numerous stationary hovercars showed, had not been so lucky. Perry, Wilkes and a few others had peered in to a few on the way. Several prayers, curses and half-digested breakfasts deposited on the highway later, Alpha Squadron had decided to leave well enough alone.

"So," said Wilkes eventually. "You think the xenomorphs are raising the stakes? Or are they just desperate?"

Perry smiled faintly, remembering a time where he would have told the lieutenant to remain focused. Still, after going through seven shades of hell and back over the last few days, he could appreciate the effort she was making to keep them sane, the smoke from the city ahead of them carrying the stench of death with it.

"Can't really say, as their aliens," the NCO said eventually. "But in the end, it probably won't matter."

Not being a telepath, Wilkes, or anyone else for that matter would have likely mistaken Perry's neutral tone as stemming from pessimism. However, the neutral tone instead stemmed from that he was simply making a factual statement. The xenomorphs wouldn't retreat from battle and unless their commanders' personalities did a one-eighty, Alpha Squadron wouldn't either.

Alpha Squadron's response to the attack on Los Andares had been slow…far too slow for there to be any real chance to prevent significant collateral damage or casualties, both in terms of its population and Chau Sara's colonial militia, the capital of their world being the hub of their activity. Then again, as he had come to realize, the Blood Hawks' creed of "first in, first out" was somewhat redundant in this conflict in that the xenomorphs had no identifiable base of operations and operating under what was theorized to be some kind of hive mind, possibly a form of telepathy, the element of surprise was far less valuable than it would have been against human targets, perhaps even pointless.

_Then again, most of war is pointless anyway…_

Given the situation, Alpha Squadron was operating conventionally. And by "conventionally", that meant the remnants of Echo Company marching towards Los Andares, while the marines of the _Dauntless _touched down on the outskirts of the city, Echo being absorbed into the E-Company of the Alpha 15th, Fisher being granted command due to his experience over the last few days, while Captain Isabella Rucka remained on the _Dauntless _to keep the ship in line and co-ordinate supply runs. After, all, with the absence of the colonel, someone had to remain on the only warship in the system.

Perry grimaced. Despite the numerous Goliath armored walkers marching alongside them, despite the heavily armored AAV-5 Arclite siege tanks rolling down the highway at regular intervals, he was still uneasy. Uneasy because the siege tank at the head of the column was being driven by-

"Alright men, form up," came the voice of Colonel Edmund Duke, driving a siege tank at the head of the column. "We've arrived at Hell's Gate."

"Hell's Gate?" asked Wilkes.

Perry sighed. "The bridge that leads over the River Volagius and into the city. The bridge that's actually called Poseidon's Gate but now leads into Hell, so to speak."

Wilkes remained silent for a moment, Perry wondering if he should perhaps elaborate further. But given the look on the lieutenant's face, a visage that mirrored the staff sergeant's own, a visage spurred by everything that they'd seen, smelt and heard on the way here, not to mention the knowledge that things were only going to get worse from here on in, he decided he didn't need to.

And besides, some things were better left unsaid…

* * *

**0612 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

_**Explorer**_**-class science vessel **_**Charon**_

Kurze was worried.

Not something that he would have freely admitted of course, especially while stationed on the _Charon_'s bridge. Many of those around him had been dragged from their bunks and not fully alert as a result, but through usual Cerberus dedication and a few stimulants, his crew would have likely noticed any unease their commander possessed. Still, they had better things to do and Kurze hoped they would remember that.

_Come to think of it, they seem to have the jitters too, _thought the Cerberus commander, a degree of satisfaction coursing through him. It wasn't that surprising really. Cerberus required its operatives to be the "best of the best," but the standards were far less stringent for its support staff such as the ones found on science vessels. And as the _Charon _was currently orbiting Chau Sara alongside the _Dauntless _in anticipation of another attack similar to the one made on the _Vigilance_, the prospect of combat didn't seem very appealing for many of its members.

Kurze's worries were different however.

Part of that difference was that they stemmed from pre-existing concerns, specifically ones that had been present ever since the start of the campaign. From the outset, Kurze knew that containing the xenomorph infestation was his top priority, both in terms of the creatures' spread and knowledge of them. But with an attack on a major city, word would spread across Chau Sara, possibly even beyond. Officially the buildup of Alpha Squadron troops was to put down the Sons of Korhal insurgents (ones that technically no longer existed, but the general population didn't need to know that) and a communications lockdown was being maintained, but it was far from foolproof. Propaganda was one of the Confederacy's most effective weapons, but its enemies were also well versed in its use. And linking a race of alien invaders with the Koprulu Sector's greatest power, not to mention that the linkage had existed for over a decade…Kurze shuddered. He didn't want to think about it.

_Christ, this place stinks, _he thought, the stench of human sweat permeating across the bridge, some of it the commander's own. Sighing, he rose from his chair, making his way towards a holographic display of Los Andares and the surrounding area. His wish for a rapid strike having been denied by Duke, who'd wanted to ship down heavy armor before moving in, Kurze used the inter-bellum period to gather data, coupling together a topographic map via surveillance from the _Charon _and the CF/A17G Wraith squadrons aboard the _Dauntless_, now back in their hangers. Wraiths were of limited use in air-to-ground combat in the best of circumstances, let alone in a cityscape. Besides, if the xenomorphs once again made a space attack, fighter support could be invaluable. Not that Kurze had any idea how the creatures were able to make jumps through warp space or even propel themselves through it, but if the creatures chose to demonstrate such an ability, he wanted to be alive to record it.

"Sir, Captain Arlo reports that Alpha Squadron will be entering the city en masse within minutes," came the voice of Lieutenant Idrini, interrupting Kurze's thoughts.

The commander nodded. "Good. Acknowledge transmission, order him to continue sit-reps as time permits.

"Yes sir."

Sighing, Kurze turned his gaze back to the display, wiping a band of sweat from his hair. Any attempt to find out why the hell Duke insisted on leading the attack personally from a siege tank had failed, but at least he could count on Arlo's presence on the surface to keep the general in line. Duke's troops were well trained, but apart from what remained of Fisher's company, none of them had any experience dealing with anything outside terran society. Kind of like how Kurze had never really had much training in diplomacy, demonstrated as he picked up a headset from Petty Officer Michalowski, Collins apparently on the line.

"Collins, what the hell do you want?"

Much to the lieutenant colonel's frustration, a burst of chuckling came down the wire, the magistrate either having laid into distractions from reality or was amused at the Cerberus commander's outburst. Either way, Kurze didn't particularly care.

"Hmm, I see the bee up your rear is drawing blood," said Collins eventually. "Care to share how it got up there?"

Kurze sighed. "No Collins, the inner workings of my body are confidential. And if you don't get to the point now, you'll find blood on my hands as well."

"Far enough," said the magistrate calmly, perhaps reassured by the distance between the two of them. "I'm just curious as to how the reclamation of Los Andares is faring, whether there's been any collateral damage."

Kurze glanced back at the hologram, the Alphas still forming up. "Collins, the attack hasn't even started yet and collateral damage is the least of our worries. And keep in mind that you're not exactly entitled to be kept in the loop."

Static filled the line. A static that Kurze hoped would lead into a terminated transmission. No such luck however.

"What do you mean, _the least of our worries!?_" Collins yelled. "Los Andares is the capital city of this world and its infrastructure demands respect. And in case you've forgotten commander, if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even know about-…"

"Magistrate, we would have found out about Los Andares with or without your office contacting you! And before you say anything more, keep in mind that you were supposed to terminate any non-controlled communication with your office, a transgression mere days after attempting to contact Duke and that as far as anyone knows you were in your office at the time of the attack and thus likely dead! Now either you shut the hell up and wait for us to reveal your miraculous survival or I swear by the Ruling FathersI will make those rumors true!"

Static filled the line. This time, it was cut.

* * *

**0617 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Poseidon's Gate**

Command and control, or C&C as they were often known, were vital to the functioning of any operation. And Edmund Duke prided himself on possessing both.

Forty years of defending the Confederacy and the appeal never left him. That he was serving the most powerful interstellar empire in this region of space was all well and good, but even if the Confederacy had been at the bottom of Koprulu's pecking order, it would have mattered little to him. He was a colonel, and although way overdue for his general's stars (at least in his own mind), he'd still be entitled to command the same amount of personnel.

_A thousand grunts… _Duke thought, watching from the top of his siege tank as the Blood Hawks took their designated positions, each company having a sector of the city in which to investigate. _All of them mine…_

Technically it could be more than that, considering that he was well within his rights to give orders to anyone still in the city, colonial militia or otherwise. Not that he particularly cared about any possible survivors. He could easily tell the difference between lives spent and lives wasted, but while such a philosophy led to a sense of morality, it also led to a sense of practicality. And in light of the militia's recent actions, or lack of them, they'd probably end up being more of a hindrance than a help.

_Still no sign of them though. No lights, no radio signals, nothing. Maybe the xenomorphs finished them off…_

Duke grimaced, wiping a gauntleted hand through his sweaty hair. The morning breeze was cool, but couldn't offset the temperature of a siege tank's interior, which was bad enough even without three people in the vehicle. However, there was more to it than that-the knowledge that within a few minutes, unless the aliens had packed up and left (fat chance), he'd be directing his forces against a foe that was unlike anything he had ever faced, a status quo possessed by almost every soldier here. He'd been in hairy situations before, had stared death in the face and crawled out of hell as he did so, but he'd at least had the comforting knowledge that his foes were human.

But now…

"All companies, report in," said the general into his comm. unit, taking his mind of what was coming.

"A Company, alright to bring it on."

"B Company, bored but alive."

"C Company, ready to roll out."

"D Company, jacked up and good to go."

"E Company, in position."

Duke nodded. "Alright, everyone knows the drill. Now move in."

The plan was executed effortlessly, all five companies spreading out through their designated areas. Then again, it wasn't exactly the most complex plan in the world and had been made up on the spot.

Getting back into his siege tank and rolling forward with A Company, Duke reflected on the irony of the situation, how his siege tanks would prove valuable, but not in the way he expected. Based on the reports he'd gone over the last few days, all evidence pointed to the xenomorphs attacking in swarms, relying on weight of numbers to overwhelm their enemy. True, there was variation in their strains, the "snake things" being far more effective than the "dog things" (Kurze had yet to come up with proper designations for the xenomorph variants, or even a name for their race) in dealing death, albeit far less numerous, but they still conformed to the insect-like swarm mentality. As such, the general had brought every siege tank he could get his hands on, confident that the xenomorphs would attack the Alphas as soon as they neared Los Andares, only to be decimated by mass artillery fire.

_But instead they hide like rats, _Duke thought, rumbling down Queenswood Street. _Guess my reputation has preceded me._

A thought unlikely to be true, but comforting nonetheless. What was somewhat less comforting however, was that the xenomorphs hadn't attacked and Duke had resolved to move into the city, despite the objections of captain Arlo, who'd wanted to send scout teams. His recommendations had been ignored however-Duke hadn't travelled down from his ship to this backwater world to let his men have all the fun. This was a new enemy and despite his unease, he still wanted to see them face to face, regardless of what usual C&C procedures dictated. He could command/navigate a siege tank and the rest of his forces simultaneously, thank you very much, regardless of the lieutenant colonel's misgivings. The Cerberus commander had ruled out using the _Dauntless' _nuclear warheads or Yamato Cannon to "sterilize" Chau Sara's capital (officially they were still fighting the Sons of Korhal, and in light of the rebels' namesake, the use of WMDs would be highly controversial) so if he was obliged to reclaim it the old fashioned way, so be it. And although the siege tank truly shone as an artillery piece, hence the name, it was still an effective armored vehicle in closer quarters.

_But then again, so are the xenomorphs, _thought the general, his subordinates still reporting negative contact. _Are siege tanks really cut out for this?_

Seconds later, with contacts simultaneously becoming positive, xenomorphs crawling out from every building and manhole in sight, Duke supposed he'd find out.

* * *

**0749 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Los Andares**

There was an old Morian saying that had originated from the Guild Wars-fight normally, and become a veteran in months. Fight in a city, and become a veteran in hours.

A paraphrased version perhaps, but given that Wilkes was currently in a city, had been fighting for more than an hour against a foe even more dangerous than the Confederacy, the bare bones of literature was all that was required to validate the point. And even if she wanted to go beyond that, circumstances dictated otherwise.

_Good thing Perry's not a telepath. Had enough trouble with what I said a few days ago._

Grimacing, the lieutenant ducked behind a burnt out groundcar, slamming home another clip into her rifle. She knew that most people would argue that this wasn't the time to think about literature or the relationship she had with her NCO, but if such thoughts were the price of sanity, so be it. Because while facing the reality of an alien species in "normal conditions" was one thing, the city stereotype was another.

_Wonder if the Morians had any prophets during the Guild Wars?_

Somehow, she doubted it. But right now, it was time to deal with what was certain. And what was certain was that despite the battle having gone on for more than an hour, the xenomorphs weren't letting up. And propping her rifle against the car's bonnet, Wilkes began her attempt to rectify the situation.

"Yee hah! Just like a shooting gallery!"

"Get some! Come and get some!"

Wilkes glanced at the Alphas to her right, both of them standing in the center of the street, firing wildly. Effective in a sense, considering that the horde of dog creatures allowed for a wild aim, but still risky.

"Jones! McCabe! Get back in cover!" Wilkes yelled, not taking her eye off the horde coming down Florina Avenue.

"Why?" asked one of the greenies. "They're bugs! All you have to do is shoot and-…"

Wilkes didn't hear the rest of that sentence. What she _did _hear was a wet sound, a series of screams and gunfire and an abrupt halt. And given the hydra creature standing over the pair of bodies, it wasn't that surprising.

"Ah shit," she murmured, diving back behind the groundcar as the hydra let loose a barrage of needle spines. While far less effective than their scythes, the needles had still been reported to occasionally bypass CMC armor and that was enough to prompt the lieutenant to get out of harm's way. Oh, and that fifth platoon gunned down the creature in seconds before turning their attention back to the horde surging up towards them. Well, at least some of them did. Alpha Squadron had pressed deep into the city, but the xenomorphs were still using the same tactics of emerging from every possible opening en masse. And right now, in addition to the critters surging up the street, that included hydra creatures surging out of the _Four Seasons _hotel. Most of them were at the windows, raining mass needle fire down on 5th platoon's location.

Wilkes wasn't sure whether she screamed "take cover!" or someone else did. Truth be told, given the sudden downpour of poisonous projectiles, such an order probably wasn't required, the marines diving behind every piece of cover they could find. What _would _require an order however, was a solution for the situation 5th platoon was in. Auto turrets were covering the side alleys and despite being in the thick of battle (presumably), Duke was coordinating his _Vulture_-class hover bike squads well, ensuring that any group of xenomorphs was reported. However, with one group of xenomorphs giving suppressive fire to another group that Wilkes judged to be between one hundred and two hundred meters away from their makeshift firebase, any Vulture squad would be academic.

_We need bigger guns._

"Perry!" yelled Wilkes into her comm. unit. "Respond, over!"

…

"Perry!"

…

"Perry, answer now or I-…"

"Calm down Wilksy, I'm here!"

The lieutenant smiled. Partly out of relief that the staff sergeant hadn't met the same fate as 4th platoon's NCO (apparently pulled down a manhole, according to the hysterical cries of Lieutenant Fowl before meeting a similar fate), partly out of the joy that hearing her old nickname brought. That now, possibly about to be swamped, he could still be a human being.

"Get on the line to Fisher. I need some heavy guns here."

"Weren't we assigned a pair of siege tanks half an hour ago?"

Wilkes grimaced. "We were, but Duke had them redeployed. Other priorities."

Perry let out a curse that was a combination of verbal abuse and questioning the colonel's parentage. Under normal circumstances, Wilkes might have been inclined to discipline him. Still, given their current situation and that he got on the line to Fisher anyway, she decided to let the matter pass.

_No need to be a bitch in my final moments, _she thought, Perry informing her of two incoming dropships, throwing a flare for good measure.

Admittedly, with the incoming heavy guns, the chances of the xenomorph swarm overwhelming their position were somewhat reduced. 5th Platoon was still able to keep firing and Vultures had deployed a few spider mines up ahead as per Duke's strategy of letting the enemy come to them. Most of the mines had detonated, but a few remained, their sensor net picking up any critter that neared them and thus scuttling over to send said critter to kingdom come. But with the suppressive fire from the hydra creatures, the spider mines running low and their Firebats having been assigned to help protect a group of siege tanks, the Blood Hawks needed more time. They needed to even the odds a little.

"Fifth squad, report in," said Wilkes, a strategy forming in her mind.

"Sergeant Drake, Fifth Squad," came a voice over the comm. unit.

"Sergeant, I need you to get to the highground. Enter the _Ritz _and pour fire on the _Four Seasons_."

"But ma'am, your position is vulnerable enough, and it'll take time for us-…"

"That's an order sergeant!"

"But ma'am, you could be overrun by the time we-…"

"Drake, I don't have time for this bullshit!" Wilkes yelled, a few Alphas glancing at her in surprise. "Just get up there and give suppressive fire before I-…"

"Ok, ok, message received," said the sergeant quietly.

Sighing, Wilkes leaned back against the groundcar, uncaring that it left her vulnerable to the elevated hydras. Drake's concern was well founded because it was just that-concern. A fear that the rest of the platoon could be overwhelmed while his squad shifted position.

_And I snapped at him, _thought Wilkes. _What kind of person does that make me?_

Less than a week ago, Perry would have probably said something along the lines of "a good officer." Indeed, the ability to give decisive orders was required in this kind of situation. But Perry had changed over the last few days, had changed in a way that made him less judgmental and more relaxed. Wilkes hadn't really dwelled on the change-circumstances didn't give her the time. But now, come to think of it, perhaps Perry had changed because _she_ had changed. He'd relaxed because he knew that his superior could get the job done without him acting like a hawk.

_But where does this leave me then? Is this what I've become? No empathy? No understanding? No…conscience?_

Sighing, she went back to firing.

The xenomorphs may want to destroy humanity. But even the creatures failed, as far as Wilkes was concerned, they may have done the next best thing…

* * *

**0802 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Los Andares**

Hugh Fisher hated flying.

It wasn't as if he wasn't used to it of course. Alpha Squadron was a rapid strike unit and vehicular transport was therefore often required. And even when speed wasn't of the essence, it was common for COs to use mobile command posts, co-coordinating their forces in the field. Not exactly like Duke was currently doing, trying to lead his forces while commanding a siege tank simultaneously, but transport units were ideal conditions.

_Except, _thought Fisher bitterly as his dropship descended, _when you're heading for a warzone from the air._

From what the captain had seen over the past few days, the xenomorphs weren't exactly air savvy. Sure, they'd reportedly taken out a science vessel, but if they had any strains capable of flying within a planet's atmosphere, Alpha Squadron had yet to see them. Still, the hydra-creatures could provide deadly volley fire, hence why the numerous dropships descending from the _Dauntless _and rerouting to supply depots had been instructed to stay clear of the city, Duke's original plan being to blast the charging aliens from range. But with Alpha Squadron having been forced to venture into the city, Fisher entering a dropship for more efficient C&C and now having to make a milk run to his company, aerial command posts had become far less appealing.

"Approaching drop point captain, ETA thirty seconds," said the voice of the ship's pilot, seated in front of him while Fisher had the navigation seat.

"Status on platoon?"

"Approximately same as reported earlier. Line's holding, but they could probably use the heavy armor."

Fisher nodded, scanning the area for any hostiles apart from the ones that were engaged with Wilkes' force. He was partly tempted to point out that a pilot hardly possessed the knowhow for making such a detailed analysis, but decided against it. He had more important things to worry about.

As it was, Fisher was part of a trio of dropships touching down-one carrying a pair of siege tanks, one carrying a trio of Goliaths and a third dropship bringing a resupply of ammunition. And walking out of the hatch that his dropship's two siege tanks had just rolled out of, Fisher could tell that the Blood Hawks needed it.

"Captain Fisher!" came a voice, Wilkes running over to him. "You came!"

Fisher idly returned the salute she gave him. "Just doing my job lieutenant. If my troops need help, they get it."

If the lieutenant had noticed the undercurrent of resentment in the captain's voice, she gave no indication, instead cheering along with her men as the heavy armor came rolling out. Fisher grimaced-Wilkes may have become more competent in recent times, but he was still wasting his time due to her being unable to hold the line against the horde of critters descending on them. A horde steadily being thinned by the Goliaths' autocannons.

To be fair, she'd at least taken the initiative, gunfire from one of her squads occupying the hydras in the adjacent one, forcing them to spread their needle fire. But she still needed siege tanks to finish them off.

_And all the while, I'm standing here at ground zero, _thought the captain, walking back to his dropship. Duke would probably be contacting him soon-it was his job to co-ordinate Echo Company and standing around siege tanks playing _Flight of the Valkyries _on attached loudspeakersas they deployed their Shock Cannons wasn't going to help matters. They could destroy every building in the city for all he cared. He had more important things to worry about.

Like the heavy footsteps…and the roaring…

_What in the name of the Ruling Fathers? _Fisher stopped where he was, turning around to face the street. So did every other Alpha for that matter. The critters on the ground had been wasted, the hydra things either dead or dying in the ruins of the building that the siege tanks had sent crashing down. For all intents and purposes, all threats in this area had been eliminated.

_**Roar!**_

Or not…

The captain listened…listened to the sound of the footsteps closing in, his suit's aural directional enhancers pinpointing it as coming towards the T-junction behind the Blood Hawks position. Subconsciously his hand stretched towards his slugthrower, the marines behind him in turn reaching for their rifles.

"What…is that?" someone asked.

"Something tall, dark and ugly."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't."

Fisher shook his head. _Idiots. Something loud and heavy is coming our way and all they can do is make jokes? Hell, they're all as bright as…_

The commander never got to finish his train of thought. Not because he couldn't think of a good simile, but because his train of thought went down another line. A line involving the shock of seeing a creature twenty meters long and five meters high. A creature that was reminiscent of the mammoths of prehistoric Earth, or at least if mammoths bore a pair of blades that stretched out akin to pincers and were reptilian. A creature that let out a roar and charged their position.

_This isn't right! _Thought Fisher. _There's no xenomorphs like this! They're all small! A creature of this size shouldn't exist!_

Taken up in the monster's scythes and his body separated into two halves, it was clear that the xenomorph thought otherwise.

* * *

**0807 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Los Andares**

More than a decade ago, back in the Guild Wars, Robert Perry had come to the conclusion that life was cheap. And although the events of the last few days had shaken that belief, the…_thing _bearing down on 5th platoon seemed intent on verifying it.

_How considerate, _the NCO thought bitterly. Not the most useful train of thought, but better than letting fear take over. The same fear that seemed to have paralyzed the entire unit, the resocs freezing up, the volunteers screaming in terror.

In all honesty, Perry couldn't blame them. Taking on alien monsters was bad enough, but the Blood Hawks had the advantage of being briefed about them before heading into the city. However, giant reptilian mammoths weren't among the identified enemies, and combine the unknown with beings of destruction, and you ran into trouble. Oh, and there was also the inconvenient fact that the creature entered the siege tanks' "dead zone" before they could change their configuration, their metal frames torn apart like children's toys.

_Guess life _is_ cheap, _Perry thought. _Guess we're screwed also._

In an instant, the staff sergeant let his body go into autopilot, adrenaline and survival instinct prompting him to get as much distance between himself and the creature as possible. Admittedly Wilkes was giving similar orders over the radio, to fall back and follow her lead, but Perry barely heard. All he cared about was running to…

_Crash!_

Perry stopped short. One of the Goliaths had landed in front of him, its frame twisted out of proportion and currently pressing several marines into the tarmac.

_Shit! Shit! Shit! _

Ignoring the sound of the other Goliath pilot meeting a similar fate as Fisher, Perry decided to follow the lieutenant's orders rather than falling into survival mode. True, sticking in a group seemed more risky than splitting up and being ordered to gather as many explosive weapons as possible was cutting it a bit fine, but Perry trusted her judgment. She'd recovered quickly back in the Arathi Basin. She could do the same here.

Not that many other Alphas held such faith. Perry didn't glance around much as he followed Wilkes, her position marked on his HUD, but the numerous bodies flying through the air and the screams told him enough. Whether they'd run for their lives or opened fire with their C-14s, the difference in their actions was rendered academic.

"Fifth Squad, this is Wilkes," came the voice of his superior. "Focus suppressive fire on the…thing."

"Suppressive fire!? How the hell are we meant to suppress that monster!?"

Despite the situation, Perry smiled. Fifth Squad may have been caught off guard as much as they were, but at least they were safe in the building. They shouldn't even need prompting.

"Just do it Drake!" yelled Wilkes. "Focus your fire on…oh."

Perry could tell by the tone of her voice that the "oh" in that sentence was the type of oh used in a phrase such as "oh shit!" rather than "oh, this is fantastic!" And glancing back to where Fifth Squad was, he could see why.

With a sickening groan, the _Ritz _collapsed. And withdrawing its car-sized hoofs back from the building, it was obvious that this new strain of xenomorph was the cause. And although it was dubious whether the xenomorphs were capable of experiencing emotions such as pride, the roar the creature let out that shook both Perry's armor and soul seemed to convey such a feeling, in addition to letting the survivors of fifth platoon know that they were screwed.

_Yeah, like we didn't know that already. And…huh?_

"Perry, you listening?"

The NCO blinked. "Huh? You were saying something?"

As it turned out, Wilksy had been saying something. Something involving a battle plan compressed to a thirty second briefing. Something that involved her planting an artillery beacon inside the building while the marines ran to an adjacent building, opening fire with the few bazookas they'd salvaged and their RPGs on her command in conjunction with Shock Cannon rounds hitting the structure, hopefully causing it to collapse and burying the creature under it. A solid plan overall. Certainly original enough to work. Except for one small issue…

"You're the bait!?" Perry exclaimed.

The lieutenant nodded. "I've got to get the creature's attention and keep it off you. A flare should suffice. Besides, the nearest Arclites are to the east and I'll be in the best position to give the firing order."

The next few seconds were a blur to Perry, both in terms of time and vision. The time…well, in the knowledge that the creature would soon stop searching the rubble for Fifth Squad and come after the fifteen or so marines that weren't dead or on their way to it, his perception seemed to stretch out in the knowledge that they only had around a minute at the most. The vision…well, his organic eye was letting out a watery substance while the interior of his cybernetic one was twitching.

"Miranda, this is insane," he hissed, the other Alphas taking up position.

Un-polarizing her visor, Wilkes smiled. "We on a first name basis now sergeant? That's a first."

"Well calling you an idiot who wants to die for no apparent-…"

Wilkes slapped him.

Courtesy of his helmet, Perry felt no pain despite the force of the blow. But it certainly got him off balance long enough for the lieutenant to put her hands on his shoulders and draw her face close to his.

"Consider the facts Robert," she said softly. "_Fact_-our rifles are next to useless against that thing and we don't have enough explosive ordnance to take it down ourselves. _Fact_-you and I are possibly the only members of this platoon that have any experience with the xenomorphs. _Fact_-by extension of the previous _fact_, one of us has to stand our ground while the other coordinates the firing squad, as the only other options are a resoc or a greenie. _Fact-_you've always been the better leader and even if we retake Los Andares, Chau Sara won't be safe by default. Now do you have any more questions, or can I get a flare ready?"

Perry did indeed have a number of questions-when did they suddenly start referring to each other on a first name basis? When did Wilkes become suicidal? How did the role of the authoritarian and the emotional individual switch places? Why was there a tear coming from his left eye? Why were there tears in Wilkes' eyes (well, the knowledge of apparent instant death could account for that). When did she get the idea that he was the better leader in a situation outside the box he'd trained in for the better part of his life?

The NCO didn't have the answer to any of these questions. And running across the street while Wilkes activated a flare, he knew that he'd never get the answers. After all, he'd never wanted to be a leader, or at least the same kind of leader as Wilkes, a CO bound by the red tape he despised. He didn't think outside the box in the same way she did. More ruthless perhaps, and therefore able to give the order to fire as Wilkes brought her hand down, but not as idealistic. The type of person who could watch as RPG and HEAT round fire impacted a five story building, sending it crashing down on a beast that's decimated your unit, the type of person who manages to steel yourself so that you can lead your men to the broken body and pump 8mm spikes into it until it stops twitching.

And thus it happened.

* * *

This is how it feels to be Robert Perry

You're blinded by rage. A rage that is so intense that you're compelled to keep firing into the body of the creature lying under several tonnes of rubble.

And then some more.

And more.

And…well, quite a bit more. Long after the rest of your men have stopped firing.

You fire because there's nothing else you can do.

You fire because despite the fact that Duke's voice over the radio is announcing victory, you sure as hell don't feel this way.

You fire because…well, for a lot of reasons, only stopping when the rubble twitches.

You stop because you see a black glove.

You stop because you see a white arm.

You stop because that arm gives way to the body of First Lieutenant Miranda Wilkes who, while you were concentrating on the rooftop (being the cold hearted bastard that you are), your superior made a dash across the road as the building collapsed, dodging the creature and while being hit by some rubble, able to withstand it due to the personal force field she took without authorization from an armory ("screw regulations" as she says).

You help your superior up. Not because she asks for a hand, not because your men would kill you if you refused (said men all cheering and clapping at this point, and don't want the moment ruined), but because it's the right thing to do. The _human _thing to do. And taking off your helmet, smiling and giving the most heartfelt salute you've ever done in your life, you understand how wonderful being human can be.

This is how it feels to be Robert Perry.

* * *

_A/N_

_I learnt an important lesson while writing this chapter-cliches rarely work._

_I suppose that deserves some elaboration in that when I drafted the outline of this story years ago, the fighting up to the appearance of the ultralisk centered on Wilkes, Perry and Fisher in a back to back setting. However, while the outlines I did back then were far less elaborate than the ones now, I can't help but wonder what I was thinking-such a scenario would have been reminiscent of the Flannum Installation and the Arathi Basin. Fights against "bug species" have their pros, but a drawback is that the first resort is often the human faction blasting away at a numerically superior enemy in what borders on a last stand scenario, the likes of _Starship Troopers _and _Aliens _being examples of this. With this chapter, I wanted to carry out a different dynamic, a scenario where while the zerg may have outnumbered Alpha Squadron (of course, they more or less outnumber anyone), it was still a flexible battlefield with the zerg demonstrating their intelligence and using relatively intricate tactics rather than "kill all humans." Still present of course, but the hydralisks and zerglings going by their strengths and their decision to remain within the city was an attempt._

_Don't know how well I did it and the demise of the ultralisk was one of half a dozen scenarios that I had in mind, wanting to demonstrate its strength, yet wanting its fall to be somewhat original rather than just mass firepower. Regardless, it did lead to a different dynamic for the chapter's ending, specifically the second person POV. Two more sections were originally slated to be in the chapter at the end but I decided to carry them over to next chapter, which would not only make it longer (chapter 10 being rather short) but would give a "feel good" ending rather than the usual "it's not over yet" segment from the Overmind. Of course it's not over at this point, as mission 5 has yet to be taken on and there are three chapters left, but the protagonists don't need to know it at this point._

_Think I've yakked on long enough. Oh, and I'm no longer on jury service. Woot._


	10. Chain of Command

"_Yeah, I knew a marine who became familiar with his commanding officer. And I use the past tense because that marine ended up with a bullet between his eyes two days later."_

PFC Ardo Melnikov, Confederate Marine Corps

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 10: Chain of Command**

**0849 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

_**Explorer**_**-class science vessel **_**Charon**_

They'd done it. They'd _won_.

Well, at least he supposed Alpha Squadron had succeeded. Duke seemed to slot the words "boy" and/or "yokel" into every other sentence that he uttered, but the facts were still crystal clear. Alpha Squadron had ventured into Los Andares and had reclaimed it from the xenomorphs.

"And therefore, our casualties will not hinder further progress," concluded the colonel. "You got that down, boy?"

In different circumstances, Kurze might have seen fit to give Duke some of the "good ol' fashioned discipline" that he went on about so often, but in light of the man's achievements, the Cerberus commander decided it wasn't worth it. Coordinating forces from a siege tank wouldn't have been easy, but with the fighting scattered and chaotic, perhaps being in the thick of the action worked out for the best. Still, regardless of his style of command, Duke had done his job and Kurze supposed he should give him credit for that.

"Yes, I got that," said the lieutenant colonel, trying to hear both himself and Duke as the _Charon_'s bridge staff cheered. "I'll want a full report soon and from your co-commanders, but for now just sit tight."

"Sit tight!?" Duke asked incredulously. "We have those critters on the run and you want me to-..."

"Colonel, we don't know where or even _if _the xenomorphs have a base of operations," interrupted Kurze, exasperated that even after fighting tooth and nail against an alien species, the man could remain extraordinarily short sighted. "For now, I want you to hold your position inside the city and deal with the situation."

The Duke Family scion muttered something that...well, something that was unfit for any civilized company. Still, as volatile as he was, Kurze knew Duke would obey orders. He might not like the idea of staying put at the city, but without any distinct enemy to fight, his desire for action would be easy to keep in check. Besides, he had to find a replacement for Captain Fisher and deal with the civilians and colonial militia still inside the city, initial projections of their survival rate grossly under exaggerated.

_That makes a change_.

Duke wouldn't like it of course but that was his problem and unless the xenomorphs came knocking, it was a problem Kurze was entirely willing to let him handle. And making it clear to his subordinates that he was retiring to his quarters and was not to be disturbed, the Cerberus commander had only one problem in mind that he intended dealing with at this point in time. Or at least, after he collapsed in his desk chair and closed eyes both organic and cybernetic and had a ten minute doze. A doze that ended with two words coursing through his mind...

Public relations.

Two simple words. Two words that Xavier Kurze despised. As per Cerberus' nature, the public spotlight was something to be avoided, but he was in command of all Confederate forces and regardless of Collins' presence, of the planet itself in a sense. And with the xenomorphs having attacked a major population centre, any attempt to deny their existence at this point would be futile. It was unlikely that such information had spread off-world yet, but the facade that the Confederacy was still dealing with the Sons of Korhal wouldn't last long if it did.

Kurze groaned, rubbing his forehead and suppressing the desire to take a shower, a desire that eventually won out.

_Being at the top of the chain of_ _command is overrated._

The water helped (real water, not one of those cheap sonic cleansers thank you very much) his mood, but not his mind. The xenomorphs could be defeated, he knew that-unlike the Arathi Basin and Flannum Installation, Los Andares had been a victory, pure and simple. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if it would have been better if Alpha Squadron had failed or simply took too long to arrive. Confederate High Command was still refusing to authorize the use of nuclear weaponry, but if Los Andares had been well and truly lost, they might have been inclined to change their minds. Seeing Chau Sara's capital going up in a radioactive cloud would be reminiscent of Korhal, not to mention in defiance of the Confederacy's ban of full scale nukes on habitable worlds, but could still be easily related to Mengsk's rebel group who, as propaganda held, was intending to do to Tarsonis what the Confederacy had done to Korhal. On the other hand, it would also set a precedent that would allow Kurze to use such weapons against any more concentrations of xenomorphs encountered

_Oh yeah, and it would have remove any alien bodies too._

Sighing, Kurze stepped out of the shower, drying himself as he swallowed some analgesic pills to deal with the onset of a headache. The _Charon _had been monitoring communications to and from Chau Sara ever since arriving in the system and theoretically, it would be a simple matter to increase the security levels to cover the inevitable media coverage of Los Andares, UNN almost certainly having at least one reporter who would be willing to report on aliens that were practically movie material. But even with a communications lockdown, these things had a way of leaking out. The Confederacy would have to do something drastic.

_Or I will, _thought Kurze bitterly as he cleared his facial hair with a sonic razor. _Bad enough that I still have to remove the remaining xenomorphs but..._

Kurze stopped. Stopped thinking, stopped worrying, even stopped shaving and dropped the razor on his toe as a result. And ignoring the throbbing pain, Kurze realized he'd been getting ahead of himself.

_Public relations aren't my problem. The _Charon _can play its part, but even if they _were _my problem, I don't have the means for anything drastic. The xenomorphs on the other hand..._

Quickly getting dressed, Kurze knew his job wasn't done. The xenomorphs may have been defeated at Los Andares, but to assume that their force here as a whole was too would be wishful thinking. They had to have a focal point _somewhere _and Kurze knew that the _Charon _was the best bet at finding it. And sending a report off to high command, Kurze prepared to do so, along with preparing Alpha Squadron for the coming conflict.

Like finding a replacement for Captain Fisher...

* * *

**1852 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Los Andares**

There was an old saying that "too much of a good thing is bad for you."

Robert Perry was familiar with such a saying in much the same way that every terran was. Eating candy will make you sick. Spending time at the VRcade will give you square eyes. Social activity must be balanced with time spent on homework. Yet having reached adulthood and a position in Alpha Squadron, the phrase had a far more specific meaning-the CMC Powered Combat Suit. A piece of equipment that for all its advantages, made soldiers soft, as some argued, CQC and natural resilience being made redundant and thus liabilities when those who used them were bereft of their power armor.

Right now, walking through the streets of what was left of Los Andares, Perry had to agree with such sentiments. Because forced to wear regulation khaki to cut down on power usage (or something equally ridiculous), the staff sergeant was aware of how cold Chau Sara could be.

_Even now I've got childlike assumptions, _thought Perry bitterly, recalling how it was natural to assume that desert worlds were warm and remained warm. However, while Chau Sara was far from being a desert world in the same vein as Dylar IV or Sonyan, it was still fairly arid outside its equatorial regions, resulting in a lack of cloud cover. As such, it could become quite warm during the day and as Perry had discovered, quite cold at night. Not even the heat island effect of Chau Sara's capital could offset this.

Then again, there wasn't much of a capital left.

Sighing, Perry walked down Starkey Crescent, passing some Alphas engaged in a game of what looked like poker with some of Los Andares' local population that weren't conforming to the norm that he'd become used to over the day, specifically yelling abuse at their saviors or being too shell shocked to do so. The xenomorphs had inflicted a horrific death toll, but had left the city itself mainly untouched. In contrast, the heavy weaponry of the Blood Hawks had done a significant amount of collateral damage. Not as bad as what the NCO had seen back in the Guild Wars and was indeed only a fraction of what the Confederacy had available in the system, but the combination of two different forms of damage had sent what was left of Los Andares' population over the brink.

_And who can blame them? We moved into this city under the assumption that no-one was left alive and ended up destroying half the city as a result. And thanks to that assumption, we barely have enough supplies or staff to treat them._

Gritting his teeth, Perry knew that there was more to it than that. The assumption that the city's population hadn't managed to hide away was reasonable in light of what the Blood Hawks had seen and heard on the M1, but the trickle of aid into the zone wasn't. Duke had shown himself to be a brilliant commander in the field of combat but dealing with its aftermath was a different story. New supply lines had to be set up, field medics had to be briefed and considerations had to be made for Alpha Squadron itself. Even now, with the sun setting, little had been done to help the city. And while Perry could spot a group of marines handing out rations to some children and another group in conversation with some of the "ineffective" militiamen, he'd seen and heard enough over the past few hours to know that these were exceptions to the rule. A rule that had been set up by oversight and some unannounced agenda that spoke of someone trying to keep the situation under wraps.

The staff sergeant sat on a bench, fiddling with his slugthrower as part of an attempt to resist using it. It was strange really, that while he'd seen much worse than this before, it was only at Los Andares that he was being affected. He knew that the last few days had changed him, though whether this was for the better or not was subjective. He could rationalize the situation all he wanted, but fighting hostile aliens was a far cry from other human beings. Strange, how conflict with the xenomorphs was seemingly inevitable yet weakened his faith in its effectiveness more than inter-species war, a testament to mankind's ability to act as a monster rather than a rational species.

_And maybe that's it. The xenomorphs don't seem to have a choice, while we do. And it's only when we find ourselves without a choice that we realize how much we've taken our past choices for granted._

Perry grimaced. "We" included himself and he wasn't going to deny it.

It was perhaps not the best time to develop individuality and a moral center, but at least fighting the xenomorphs didn't require the latter. _Not _fighting them did however, because outside combat, the situation wasn't so clear. And having spent his career aiding the decisions made by individuals rather than taking the initiative himself, Los Andares didn't provide ideal circumstances. And while still willing to take such challenges head on, the staff sergeant found himself wishing for a brief respite.

With Lieutenant Wilkes requesting his position at company HQ a few minutes later, his wish was granted.

* * *

**1903 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Fort Keldathu (current Office of the Colonial Magistrate)**

Magistrate Collins liked watching the news.

At least, that's what he'd say if he was asked, that he was interested in what was occurring in the Koprulu Sector. In all truth however, this was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration. Yes, nothing would ever happen on Chau Sara, but you could only believe so much on UNN these days, even if Confederate media laws were being relaxed. But specifically, as per UNN's branch on his world, he was rather interested in those who delivered the news rather than the content of what they reported. Watching, not listening, as the case was.

_Not that I have to listen anyway, _thought the magistrate, munching on some mealbars as he gazed at the recently installed flatscreen. _I know what happened_.

So did the rest of Chau Sara's citizens for that matter, or at least they would after reporter Brenda Frost finished her piece on Los Andares and the recent events that had transpired there. And as little to no recordings were taken to be played, the entire piece was simply her talking, taking up more screen time than three reporters put together under normal circumstances. Which, much to Collins' subtle delight, would ensure that her practice of keeping the three top buttons of her shirt undone instead of what appeared to be the normal two for most reporters.

_And so it comes to pass, _thought the magistrate bitterly as Miss Frost (he'd always kept tabs on the former term). _The story's out and I still haven't got that woman to agree to a personal interview._

Part of Collins mind, most likely the part that harkened back to his days in the Colonial Fleet, was asking what the hell he was doing, sitting down as word about alien invaders was released across Chau Sara and within a few hours, would be aired on Tarsonis itself. Still, the majority of Collins' mind, the part that had declined along with his physical state, pointed out that there was no reason to worry. The xenomorphs had gone public, but there was nothing to link it to him. Sure, people would find reasons to blame their magistrate-that's what people did. But with the presence of Alpha Squadron and what Collins suspected would soon be a heavier presence on Cerberus' part as well, the public eye would be on the Confederacy as a whole rather than a single individual.

_And I thought that being magistrate of a backwater world had no advantages. And hey, that asshole Kurze will get what's coming to him._

Smiling, Collins balanced his remote with one hand while holding a mealbar in the other, toying with changing the channel. Frost might not be on until tomorrow night, but it was likely that UNN would continue reporting on Los Andares for at least another ten minutes. Kurze had seen fit to at least inform him that the operation was a success, but as far as he could tell, his request for a lack of collateral damage had been flatly ignored. Some official figures, or at least estimated ones from the media in regards to the damage would be useful to cite when he gave the cybernetic freak a piece of his mind.

_It can probably wait, _thought Collins, seeing that Frost had now engaged in a liaison with anchorman Ted Rowling, the imagery just as distinct on half a screen as it was on a full one. _I can still take the time to enjoy the sights of…static?_

Collins blinked. Partly because of the gray-white static he was seeing, partly because he couldn't _believe_ what he was seeing. The flatscreen had only been installed this morning and already he was having problems with reception?

"Oh for flick's sake!" Collins exclaimed, dropping both his remote and mealbar and making his way over to the screen. "Can't this flicking piece of flicking junk work for more than one flicking second!?"

The continuing static seemed to suggest that the answer was in the negative and that whatever the problem was, it would take more than Collins' limited knowledge of electronics to fix. The screen and wires were built into the wall so there was nothing to fool around with and a trio of servo servants had installed the set. Slow and monotonous perhaps, but those robots were still efficient and methodical. The chances of them making a mistake during installation were rather remote.

_Machines are overrated, _thought Collins to himself, picking up a data chip from his desk. _Artificial intelligence on the other hand…_

Although leaving the Adjutant of his old office had been one of the few boons of leaving his old office in Los Andares (the xenomorph attack notwithstanding), Collins had decided that in his current situation, such an AI would probably be a necessary evil. Kurze informed him because of his position as magistrate and nothing more and would probably choose to ignore it completely if it suited him. As such, he'd requisitioned an Adjutant after the attack on Los Andares-that he'd been contacted at all was something of a fluke and with an Adjutant monitoring Chau Sara's communications, his string of luck would be set to extend.

_And be a handy tool to see what's wrong with my flatscreen, _thought the magistrate with satisfaction, slotting in the Adjutant's data chip into the system's slot usually used for digital uploads. _Maybe she can find out what's wrong with the system._

In one sense, Collins' hopes were founded, given that the Adjutant did find out what was wrong. In a sense they weren't, because, the flatscreen wasn't the problem…

…the global communications lockdown being enforced by the _Charon _was.

* * *

**1912 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

_**Explorer**_**-class science vessel **_**Charon**_

"There's a _what _down there?"

Kurze sighed. He didn't know why people insisted on questioning what they heard as a way of expressing disbelief in a manner similar to if they didn't hear it at all. Granted, as per his time in Cerberus and having made his way from one side of the Koprulu Sector to the other, he was perhaps exempted from it as very little surprised him anymore. But he'd hoped that Duke's response to the recent information would be akin to "alright, bring it on!" rather than "what the hell?"

_Maybe he's not always as direct as he makes himself out to be, _thought the Cerberus commander, sitting on his bridge chair as he conversed with the colonel via a vidsys. _Or maybe his accommodation isn't to his liking._

Being a member of the Duke Family and commander of Alpha Squadron, Kurze supposed that the colonel expected his quarters to either be Spartan or luxurious. However, the drab apartment he'd commandeered as his personal quarters in Los Andares as part of the field HQ he'd set up was somewhere in between. And as Duke's outburst had shown, he liked things to be crystal clear.

"As I said, _Edmund_, there's some kind of hive cluster about fifty kilometers southwest of the city," said Kurze. "And as High Command has yet to get back to me, we can assume that we are still unauthorized to use WMDs. Therefore, the only option we've got is to send Alpha Squadron in to-…"

"Oh great plan boy, send us in without any planning whatsoever," snarled Duke, the use of his forename having not gone unnoticed. "And how the hell did you miss something so close to Los Andares? We had no inclination as to the xenomorphs' base of operations before they attacked and now suddenly we do!?"

Kurze had kept the volume of the vidsys low in anticipation of such an outburst. No reason to distract the bridge crew or let them get ideas about who was truly in command of Confederate forces on Chau Sara. Still, the irony of Duke's comments on planning aside, the colonel had a point. One that he intended to address.

"You have a point colonel," said the Cerberus commander. "That this hive cluster went unnoticed seems incredible. However, as these images show, it's to be expected."

Pressing a button, Kurze transferred a set of images to Duke, the look on his face informing Kurze that he'd received them in the same manner as his query of "what the flick?" did.

Kurze was looking at the images as well, still having trouble to believe what he was seeing. A dropship flyby at 0800 hours had revealed nothing, yet another at 0900 hours had spotted a single structure. Using the _Charon_, Cerberus had watched the emergence of some kind of xenomorph colony. As the hourly images showed, not only did the central structure undergo two transformations over time, but the spread of the substance known as creep stemmed from it, supporting a variety of other organic structures.

"A base of operation," Duke murmured. "And they did all this in a manner of hours…"

Kurze nodded, going on to explain how the central structure had been designated as a hatchery, its two subsequent metamorphoses as a lair and hive respectively. The functions of the other structures were unknown, though the anti-air ones that took down Second Squad by the Flannum Installation were present, but overall, they mattered little. The hatchery, or hive as it had become, was the focal point of the colony, spreading creep and as far as the lieutenant colonel could tell, spawning larvae…

…which could morph into more warrior strains.

"Time's of the essence then," said Duke, beginning to warm up to the challenge. "We have to nip these critters in the bud, so to speak."

"Exactly," said Kurze, having begun to relax despite the situation. It was so nice to talk to someone who didn't second guess his every decision. Duke had his flaws, but unlike Collins, these flaws weren't nearly as counterproductive.

"I'll get my forces ready," continued the colonel. "We should be ready to assault the cluster at twenty-hundred hours."

"And will have completed planning too," put in Kurze, just for the hell of it.

Duke grimaced. "Yeah…alright boy. You can count on me."

"Glad to hear it."

Kurze knew that Duke was still fuming over Kurze's choice of replacement for Captain Fisher. The Blood Hawks were his men, he claimed, and he'd promote them as he saw fit. However, while Kurze understood the man's attachment to his squadron, Duke didn't realize the importance of experience when it came to the xenomorphs. Numerous reports of 'freezing up' had come from the earlier battle and Kurze needed COs who could lead those under command without any risk of lapsing in judgment. And while Captain Isembi was a competent commander on the field, she was just as competent in directing aerial forces from the _Dauntless_. Overall, Kurze had felt that the Echo Company lieutenant would make a suitable choice.

_Things are looking up I guess, _thought the Cerberus commander. _Hive cluster aside of course. Still, Duke's on the job and Collins hasn't pestered me yet-…_

"Kurze! What the hell is going on!?"

_Or not._

* * *

**1919 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Fort Keldathu (current office of the Colonial Magistrate)**

Collins was glad that he hadn't removed the holo-system from his room upon installation of the flatscreen. Although he felt that the former outranked the latter in visual quality, it was currently involved in the lockdown Cerberus Squadron had imposed and thus useless. The holographic system was primarily designed for priority communications as per Keldathu's role as a fort and as such, had escaped Kurze's censoring. At least for now. As such, Collins wanted to give Kurze a piece of his mind if such a thing occurred.

_More like when. Hell, it would give the bastard an excuse to cut me out of the loop entirely._

"Magistrate Collins," said the Cerberus commander wearily. "I was wondering when I would hear from you."

"I'm not surprised, all things considered," snarled Collins. "Especially since-…"

"Magistrate, what do you want?" snapped Kurze. "The xenomorphs are under control, Los Andares is saved, you're still magistrate, blah blah blah…Unless you have something constructive to say then let me-…"

"Constructive!? You impose a global communications lockdown on Chau Sara and you lecture me on what's _constructive_!?"

Although the hologram was a bare bones system and therefore not capable of showing the finer details, Collins could sense a change in Kurze's demeanor. Previously he'd been bored, tired and irritated. Now, he seemed genuinely puzzled, albiet with a hint of humor, as if he could see something the magistrate couldn't.

"Yes Collins, I would call the lockdown constructive," said the lieutenant colonel. "Being magistrate on a world being attacked by aliens, I would have thought you, of all people, would understand the need for secrecy."

"I guess,' said the magistrate, willing to concede the point. "But Los Andares was attacked! And damage to infrastructure aside, how the hell is confidentiality an issue now!? All of Chau Sara will know about-…"

"No, they won't!" Kurze yelled. "Half of Chau Sara's population is composed of ignorant fringe squibs who don't even know how to work a hologram. And if you could see beyond your petty little bubble of existance, you'd remember that there's the rest of the Confederacy to think about not to mention dozens of other factions who'd love to see it cast down! Bad enough that the psi emitters were-…"

"Psi emitter!?" exclaimed Collins. "What the hell is a psi emitter!?"

Kurze seemed to go pale, though it could have simply been a holographic fault. Regardless, Collins knew that he'd touched a sensitive subject and by all that was holy, he was going to press it.

"Well, commander? Something you care to inform me about?"

"No, there isn't," said Kurze brusquely. "Forget about-…"

"Forget about what? Something I've never heard of? Hell, you're cutting me out of the loop again."

"Oh right," sneered the lieutenant colonel. "It's not as if you never went behind _my _back, what with trying to get Duke to overrule my position. Oh no, you've toed the line from day one."

It was amazing how someone who commanded a science vessel could be so patronizing. Times might have changed, but back when he was commanding a battlecruiser, Collins knew the importance of being direct. Let the crew know what you wanted them to do and how to do it and you had an efficient ship. And while you were called upon to exert your authority, you didn't go overboard like Kurze had done.

_Maybe he has a right to, _thought Collins bitterly. _But it hardly matters anymore. Los Andares was attacked and the Confederacy couldn't afford to totally isolate one of its Core Worlds would it, even if it _is _inhabited by fringe squibs. Could it?_

Collins didn't know. What he _did _know however, was that if such a thing occurred, both Chau Sara and himself would drop off the radar, isolated and forgotten. So while the xenomorphs had to be defeated and their link with the Confederacy as per the Flannum Installation, (and the psi emitters, whatever they were) downplayed, surely the time for secrecy had passed.

"Perhaps I've been difficult," said Collins eventually, deciding to go for diplomacy. "But you're hardly innocent either. So while we may disagree on certain issues, I think we can at least find common ground with Los Andares. If we can establish a defensive perimeter we can-…"

"There's no time for that," interrupted Kurze. "Our intelligence confirms that the time to strike at the xenomorphs' hive cluster is now. And if Duke lives up to his word, that strike will be occurring in about half an hour."

"By whose authority!?" Collins thundered, not knowing nor caring what a hive cluster was in light of yet another decision being made behind his back, more concerned about the implications than the practicalities. "I am still magistrate of this colony and-…"

"By order of the Colonial Crisis Act under sub-section 1602, I hereby supersede your authority in this matter," said Kurze. "And considering that you've just been removed from office, you now have no authority to speak of."

One could have heard a pin drop.

"What?" Collins whispered. "Now wait just a minute here. I-…"

"Collins, I have waited," sighed Kurze, lying back in his seat, seemingly genuinely disappointed. "I've _waited_ for you to see the bigger picture. I've _waited_ for you to stop second guessing my actions. I've _waited_ for you to actually start acting like a magistrate in a time of war. But as you've done none of these things and given the current situation, I feel that I have no choice but to strip you of your authority and place Chau Sara under martial law."

"You…you can't do this."

"I can and I have. Times have changed Edwin and you haven't changed with them. And if we survive this, maybe you'll be able to realize that one day."

* * *

**1931 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Los Andares, Alpha Squadron Field HQ**

Robert Perry didn't know that Chau Sara was under martial law or that its magistrate was currently drowning himself in misery and alcohol as a result of such a declaration. He wasn't psychic or some omnipotent being that knew all and saw all. But that wasn't to say he lacked all perception whatsoever and entering the apartment that Wilkes had been granted as per her status, he could tell that his…friend was uneasy.

"Perry," said the lieutenant, opening the door a few seconds after he'd first knocked. "Come in."

Silently, Perry obliged, not sure what surprised him more. That Wilkes was simply wearing a gray thermal shirt and trousers, the type one could wear under CMC armor or the room's decoration. Holo-posters, depicting the three strains of xenomorph encountered so far. Strains that not only had been studied in terms of anatomy and ability, but had also been named-…

"Zerglings, hydralisks and ultralisks," said the lieutenant, as if reading Perry's mind. "Kurze came up with official designations and circulated them. Wants us all on the same page or something."

The NCO remained silent, noticing how the terms corresponding to the dog things, the hydra things and the mammoth thing respectively. The last two made sense, considering their reminiscence to the mythological hydra and the ultralisk's 'uberness,' and seemed to conform to an 'isk suffix.

_But zerglings? What kind of name is that? Where'd that come from? And come to think of it, where did this apartment come from either?_

Perry didn't know the name of the apartment block that Duke had commandeered, courtesy of the sign being destroyed by siege tank fire. But still being the head of 5th platoon, Wilkes shouldn't have been entitled to it, rather being allocated to a designated outpost. And where did the bottle of port come from? The bottle that had currently filled one glass and was moving on to a second, both situated on a desk that Wilkes was now seated at.

"What could be our last sample of the devil's poison," said Wilkes, as if that explained everything.

Perry said nothing as he emptied his glass while taking a seat, Wilkes doing the same. Something was out of place here, and he knew it. _What _was out of place was another matter entirely. He'd been called here for a reason, so was he meant to do something? Compliment Wilkes on her pilfering of the force field? Provide feedback on the xenomorph names? Wonder why the xenomorphs weren't named themselves, as if giving them a name would make them a legitimate threat? Or was it due to-…

"I'm now a captain," said the ex-lieutenant, cutting to the chase. "A replacement for Fisher."

The statement broke the ice. And as per the staff sergeant's response, the ice melted also, coming out in a torrent.

"What? How?" he asked. "How'd you get promoted so quickly? What about Captain Isembi? Surely Duke didn't-…"

"The colonel didn't do anything apart from trying to block such a promotion," interrupted Wilkes. "Kurze recognized the value of experience and with our company engaged from the start, wanted its last lieutenant to ascend to replace its captain. And besides, Isembi has shown herself to be adept at co-coordinating supply runs. And believe me, in less than half an hour, we'll need as much coordination as we can get." She smiled faintly. "Oh, and my maneuver with the ultralisk also played a role. Go figure."

Perry did try to "go figure" as the lieutenant, no, _captain _put it. Try as he might, he couldn't. The two of them had been paired together for so long and now, in a few sentences, they'd been regulated to different points in the chain of command. And what was this about coordination? Los Andares had been saved. The xenomorphs were almost certainly still out there but no-one could have had time to pinpoint their location yet.

An image taken from the _Charon _that the captain put on the desk showed otherwise.

"A hive cluster," said Wilkes, pointing at the organic structures the image depicted. "Fifty kilometers southwest of the city, sprung up over the course of the day. Duke's planning an attack and we're to move out in less than half an hour."

Perry nodded slowly, trying to get his head around the concept of the xenomorphs setting up shop so quickly, not to mention the ominous implication that they were only setting up shop _now _rather than the ambush and surge tactics used in the Arathi Basin and Lazaran Gullies respectively. And there was also another concept to get his head around. One that in addition to giving him a headache, was causing pain in another part of his body…

"I take it that when you said "we", you meant we in the sense as Alpha Squadron as a whole rather than yourself," he said slowly.

Wilkes raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Well you're a captain," said the staff sergeant. "You'll be staying here and-…"

"No, I _won't_," interrupted Wilkes. "I'll be flying in a dropship coordinating E Company over the battle while Duke stays behind. It's a different battlefield Perry and the colonel's realized that. And in the knowledge that I'll be facing the xenomorphs without you, I've realized that too."

It was now Perry's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Ma'am, I know this is sudden and all but-…"

"Oh don't give me that bullshit," interrupted Wilkes. "Of course it's sudden. Of course it's unexpected. And in the knowledge that hundreds of lives are in my hands against an alien foe, a foe that I know has changed me into something I wasn't before, I'm frankly terrified."

"You seem to be doing a good job of hiding it," Perry murmured.

Wilkes smiled. "That's another thing I wanted to talk about."

The NCO remained silent. His superior had been building up to something. And taking his hand, he suspected what.

"Robert, I have no idea what's going to happen over the next few hours, so I want to say this now. Thank you for everything. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for helping me. And above all, thank you for being a person I can call a friend, especially since-…"

"Miranda, stop!" Perry (or Robert, as per an apparent forename basis). shouted, a bit louder than he intended, the hurt look in his friend's eyes conveying this. Still, it quickly evaporated upon hearing his words. Words that stemmed from everything they'd faced together. Words that came from a changed persona. Words that came from the heart rather than the head…

"I'm the one who should say thank you."

* * *

The being was surprised.

Pride was something it had a right to. It was perhaps the most powerful organism in the whole of creation, brought into being by a race who could direct the evolutionary path of an entire species. They were mighty, they were wise, they were like _gods_...and had fallen. Over Zerus. They had been _consumed_.

Its species had taken the role of the progenitors. It had the right to create or destroy as it saw fit. It had earned that right when it looked to the stars aeons ago, seeking to expand the Swarm, to achieve perfection by its own standards rather than its creators. And after thousands of years of travelling through the unforgiving gulf between stars, the key to perfection, the Firstborn, was within grasp.

Or at least would have been, if not for the dogged resistance of this frail species that insisted on defying the course of evolution.

The being was prideful and had a right to be, it knew that. But unlike some of its agents, the cerebrates, it would not be blinded by it. And whatever had come before on this putrid little world, it could admit that the terrans' victory in their planet's capital was entirely unprecedented and unlike their previous 'victories' over the last few days (or what they called days, as so short a period of time had little meaning to it), was a battle that it would have difficulty recovering from. True, it could bring the entire swarm to this world, but that would defeat the purpose of not only collecting information on its latest foe, but considering that its Broods were secretly setting up shop on other worlds, it would be counterproductive to withdraw. Its arm was long, having spread to the worlds the humans called Mar Sara, Brontes and Dylar IV. But only on Chau Sara had it begun to close the fist.

Yet its grip had been pried. Despite the Swarm's numbers, they'd been...

Maybe that was it.

In its journey across the stars, the Swarm had rarely had to rely on numbers to defeat its enemies, even the few that could mount an effective resistance. Billions of strains were at its command, but were usually spread out between star systems, able to invade any world bearing life worthy of assimilation or failing that, eradication. But not only was this new species able to mount a continuous resistance, but had the raw power to do so.

Power was not the answer here. Numbers were. Numbers that while limited in the filthy conglomeration called a city, would be far more effective in an open area, specifically where the primary Hive Cluster was located. Yes, as Daggoth and his Brood could demonstrate, numbers would do quite well.

_Let them come_, the being hissed. _Let them _all _come._

* * *

_A/N_

_Well, this chapter took awhile..._

_I can't say there's much trivia for this chapter, so to speak, apart from that I actually wrote the end section last before going back to the beginning. I knew this chapter would be difficult to write and I wanted to get the easy stuff out of the way. The Overmind is single-minded, while the human protagonists...not so much._

_One thing I would like to mention however, something that gave me perhaps the most ammount of trouble, was the interaction between Wilkes and Perry, a section that right up to the point of writing, had different ideas for it. Yes, I had the initial draft written down, a draft that included...physical contact, so to speak (use your imagination, or not), but even before I restarted this fic, I'd decided that actions that stemmed from more than a plutionic relationship wouldn't be included. Why?_

Because there's no need for it.

_Having the two protagonists become more reciprocal towards each other by this chapter was one thing. Having a romance bloom was another. And at this point in time, any such romance and physical interaction would feel like it was thrown in for the sake of it, something I feel has become common in various forms of fiction, both original and fanon. _StarCraft _has handled some pairings well (eg. Raynor and Kerrigan) while others not so well (eg. Ramsey and Dahl), but there wasn't enough of a precedent in the story for anything beyond friendship, nor enough time to properly deal with the implications had it gone beyond friendship._

_Anyway, that's just me. Rant over._


	11. Extermination

"_Can't say much is going on right now Handy. The _Norad II _is patrolling the space in and around the Fringe Worlds and I've reported everything the Confederacy lets me. Which, given that nothing noteworthy has occurred for the past two months and the only thing worth reporting on being the battlecruiser itself,, is very little. There are a few more secrets I might be able to unlock, but I'm running out of coffin nails to buy them. Still, with Colonel Duke nowhere to be found, I might be able to get some more info for free."_

"_And at least there's the admittedly selfish consolation that Alpha Squadron must be as bored as I am."_

Transcript of a message sent by UNN reporter Michael Liberty to editor-in-chief Handy Anderson, 11/12/99

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 11: Extermination**

**2006 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)**

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Interior of quandtradyne APOD-33 dropship **_**Orpheon**_

"Adjutant online. Good evening captain."

Captain Miranda Wilkes sighed. Partly out of relief that her adjutant was now working, partly out of the embarrassment that it had taken her six minutes to get the forsaken AI to operate properly. And standing in front of the five lieutenants of E Company, people that she'd never seen in her life and if this assault was anything like past ones, people that she may never see again, Fisher's replacement wished things had got off to a better start. That Isembi was still on the _Dauntless _hadn't gone down too well and with only a few minutes before touchdown, Wilkes knew that her window of making a good impression was rapidly diminishing.

_Just like my window before heading into battle again. Dammit, how did the xenomorphs set up so fast!?_

Wilkes didn't know and if anyone in Cerberus did, they weren't saying. However, as per this pre-mission briefing, that didn't mean that no information had been released...

"Well..." said the captain eventually. "Seems like my adjutant is now working."

Her subordinates smiled faintly, though from patronizing contempt rather than any sense of humour. Lieutenant Hikowa's blank stare was the only exception, courtesy of heavy neural resocialization that supposedly didn't hinder his ability to function in the field. Oh, and there was Perry, whose smile was actually genuine, Wilkes finding herself returning it. He wasn't in the position to be in this meeting, but command and friendship had its privileges. And although things had changed between the two of them over the past few days, mutual dependence remained similar to the former status quo, albiet far less hostile.

"We don't have much time," said Wilkes, pressing a button on the tactical map table in the dropship's centre, one that would prompt her adjutant to begin displaying holograms while she talked. "We're Alpha Squadron. First in, first out. The xenomorphs have set up shop south of Los Andares and it's our job to ensure that their stay is short lived. And to do that, we have to be well informed."

Despite her suit's cooling system theoretically offsetting the stuffy interior of the dropship, Wilkes found herself sweating. She wiped a gloved hand through her hair, noticing how much it had grown. More detractors from her presentation. Still, with the adjutant displaying a layout of what was apparently a xenomorph hive cluster, her subordinates' attention was at least not on her.

"In a sense, our job is simple," said Wilkes, pointing to the yellow icons that marked Alpha Squadron and its intended pattern of deployment, the xenomorphs marked as red. "We touchdown and move forward in a co-ordinated manner, killing anything that moves." The yellow icons began moving as such, loose groups representing squads moving towards the hive cluster while a long line of yellow icons remained at the northern edge of the map.

"The modus operandi will be different from Los Andares in that the siege tanks will be used exclusively for artillery support," continued Wilkes, pointing to the thin yellow line. "However, you'll-..."

"_You?" _asked Lieutenant Kwan indignantly. "Aren't you coming down?"

Wilkes sighed, this time purely from frustration. She was already running behind schedule and Kwan was insisting on wasting her time. Couldn't they see this wasn't like Los Andares, that Alpha Squadron was deploying as quickly as possible? Couldn't they see that this was their chance to finally put an end to the infestation?

_Well would you? You barely knew what was going on when you first arrived. Cut them some slack._

"No, I'll be remaining in this dropship for command and control purposes," answered Wilkes cordially. "Hence the adjutant. But given that you'll be supported on your flanks by Stingers and Vultures and from the air by Wraith fighters, not to mention your accompanying Goliaths, I think it's worth me being on the sidelines."

The group's mood picked up instantly. The xenomorphs had shown themselves to be sneaky little bastards in Los Andares, emerging from unexpected places. Vulture hover bikes and Stingers-six wheeled jeeps with a mounted 35mm HE cannon would be a valuable asset. And with Kurze having decided that Chau Sara's surrounding space was xenomorph free, the two CF/A17G Wraith squadrons of the _Dauntless _had been cleared to provide air support. And with 25mm burst lasers, Gemini air-to-air missiles and advanced cloaking systems, they'd prove to be formidable assets indeed.

"You all know how to deal with the xenomorphs, and since our firebats don't have to guard the tanks at such a distance, I won't bother going over them," continued the captain. "However, their structures will be entirely new to you and while most of them don't seem to be a threat, it's best to be informed."

The hologram changed, this time showing a chart of organic structures. As Wilkes quickly pointed out, some of them were apparently used a places of abode or something similar, specifically the spawning pools, hydralisk dens and ultralisk caverns used by zerglings, hydralisks and ultralisks respectively. Spore colonies, the structures that had downed a Cerberus dropship outside the Flannum Installation, were also pinpointed, to be destroyed whenever possible, thus clearing more room for air support and transportation.

"Incendiary rounds and explosives should be able to suffice in such cases," Wilkes concluded. "However, there's another type of structure that should bear in mind..."

The hologram highlighted and enlarged a single organic structure. It looked like some kind of starfish, firmly anchored on the creep-encrusted ground, as if sinking into it...

"This structure has been designated as a sunken colony," said Wilkes. "We don't know its function, but its method of placement is in conjunction with the spore colonies, suggesting that it may be some kind of stationary defence against ground targets. Exactly how is unknown, but stay frosty anyway."

Silence greeted her with such a declaration. Staying frosty was part of Alpha Squadron's _modus operandi _anyway and it went without saying that it had to be taken to a whole new level when faced with alien invaders, especially when two of the holographic structures had yet to be identified.

"I don't know what they are," admitted Wilkes as per Lieutenant Eccleston's query. "The cylindrical structure has been designated as a spire and the central structure as a hive, but apart from the theory that the latter is more or less the node of the cluster, we have little intel. Regardless, Cerberus apparently has something special for the hive. Our job is to simply clear the way for them.

The COs took this in without question, though Wilkes couldn't help but notice Perry's dark gaze, his organic eye narrowed, his cybernetic eye dim. Silently, Wilkes agreed with his line of thought-Alpha Squadron had been used akin to cannon fodder back at the Arathi Basin and Lazaran Gulleys for Cerberus. What would happen when they assaulted a fully fledged base? And why the hell was a ground assault being used anyway? Surely the cluster could be taken out from orbit?

The captain didn't know. All she knew were the Blood Hawks' objectives and how they were to achieve them. And although Duke might have a different mindset, even while commanding the entire force, Wilkes was determined to do it with as few casualties as possible. Idealistic perhaps, but both Perry and herself had come to realize its worth.

_But will the rest of the Alphas?_

"One last point," said Wilkes, wishing she had more time, a luxury that was running out steadily as the dropship descended. "The entire cluster is established on a substance called creep. We know little about it, but it doesn't seem to be inherently hazardous to terrans. However, I want all of you to keep your helmets on at all times. According to the Flannum Installation researchers, the stuff can spread by spores and I don't want anyone inhaling it."

General affirmation greeted her. A pro in one sense, but Wilkes couldn't help but feel like a fool. There were a hundred ways for those under her command to die in this operation and she was worried about a few spores?

Then again, the former lieutenant was worried about a lot of things. And while her subordinates quickly and efficiently filed out to join up with their squads and relay her orders, Perry stayed behind.

"You alright ma'am?" he asked.

"No, I'm not alright," murmured his superior, switching the hologram back to the tactical map, ready for her adjutant to utter things like "your forces are under attack." "I'm sending men and women to their deaths while I'm flying around in a dropship."

"Fisher did that," said the staff sergeant simply.

"Well I'm not Fisher!" Wilkes yelled. "I'm not a person with years of experience who was promoted based on achievement rather than necessity! I'm not a person who's able to send people to their deaths without a second thought! I'm not-..."

"Miranda, you're not a lot of things and in some cases, that's a good thing," said the captain's friend cordially. "But what you _are _is a person who's always tended to see the bigger picture. So while I won't claim that commanding a company is like commanding a platoon, I _will _make the claim that such lives will be well spent. Because if we don't stop the xenomorphs here, how many more people will die?"

Wilkes smiled. Perry had always said the right things, both complimentary and critical. But hearing such words now...well, he had changed. She had changed. Hopefully enough to co-ordinate the lives of around two hundred people in battle. And wishing her friend good luck, a compliment that was returned, Wilkes swore that she wouldn't let him down. He deserved that much.

All of Chau Sara did.

* * *

On both ground and air, battle was joined.

If one had been a passive observer, invisible to terran and xenomorph alike, perhaps they would have been able to comprehend the battle's true nature, the different styles of combat for the two sides. Perhaps they would have been truly able to comprehend the difference between the two species. Perhaps not. But giving such an observer the benefit of the doubt as to his or her or even _its _abilities, a significant amount of information would have been able to be collected.

The most professional of the squadrons apart from Cerberus (though given the disparities is size, such an assessment was not completely fair), Alpha Squadron had moved quickly and efficiently. Dropships and APCs had ensured that the infantry were steadily pushing towards the hive cluster while the artillery line arrived in the same timeframe. Duke's plan was aggressive, but not overly so, the siege tanks and mobile artillery kept at the rear of the line. Not the same type of support as in Los Andares, but with 120mm shells raining havoc on the xenomorph hive cluster while twin rockets detonated against designated structures, just as valuable.

That wasn't to say that the tanks were completely separate from the infantry. Colonial militia survivors from Los Andares were staying with the tanks, protecting them against any xenomorphs that skirted the main battleline and headed for the supporting artillery. Reacting to the creatures' aggressiveness, Duke had called down numerous T-280 space construction vehicles and prefabricated materials from the _Dauntless_, resulting in on-field repair and resupply to the vehicles, but also the creation of bunkers for the militia. Crude, but as the alien bodies stacked up near the colonel's position, undoubtedly effective.

Soon the xenomorphs stopped attacking the position.

Closer to the hive cluster, the story was different. Against the tanks, the xenomorphs had clearly reacted to a threat, a threat that they had failed to deal with. But against the infantry and their supporting vehicles, the story was different. Xenomorphs sprung out of the creep in groups, performing numerous hit-and-run attacks against the Blood Hawks-zerglings leaping at the attackers in a mad frenzy, hydralisks catching the attackers in a crossfire of needle spines. While the humans fought in a mutually supportive manner, marines, firebats and their Goliath walkers supporting each other mutually, the xenomorphs acted in their own independent groups. Not out of disunity, but from the understanding that they could afford the losses that the humans inflicted, that in their tactics of attrition, they had the advantage. Or they could operate in what was being called a 'swarm' and attack in a similar manner to their enemies, zerglings and hydralisks working together, often with an ultralisk to top things off. Regardless, they would make the humans react to their moves, rather than reacting to theirs.

It wasn't long however, before the xenomorphs _did _make a reaction of their own and abandoned the swarm formation. The terran artillery was powerful and against such tightly grouped warrior strains, absolutely devastating. The ultralisk in Los Andares had easily got inside the siege tanks' "dead zone," but no such thing could occur here. And with the bodies of the fallen behemoths stacking up, it was obvious that even the most mighty alien warriors couldn't stand up to mass artillery. And with such knowledge, morale built up amongst the attacking forces. A concept that didn't apply to the xenomorphs, but one that their commanding strains could appreciate.

They could also appreciate the nature of air support.

Throughout the entire battle, the Wraith squadrons flew cover for the ground units, laser fire raking the ground. While it had come as a shock to the pilots that the spore colonies could apparently detect them and fling their corrosive projectiles their way, the fighters had withdrawn out of range before any damage had been done. And with the ground forces pummelling the spore colonies with everything from incendiary rounds to rockets, slowly but shortly more airspace was opened up. However, the sunken colonies, while equally vulnerable to attack, inflicted a toll of their own, infantry, Stingers, Vultures and even the mighty Goliaths sent flying through the air, courtesy of their subterranean tentacles. Against mass firepower they were next to defenceless, hence Alpha's officers instructing infantry to go up against them, but the broken husks of vehicles littering the battlefield stood as testament to the cost of such a lesson.

Soon afterwards, another lesson was learnt...don't make assumptions.

The assumption of note was that the xenomorphs had no flyers, or at least flyers that didn't float in the air like giant lobsters, such creatures designated as "overlords." But with waves of dragon-like creatures suddenly emerging from the spire and engaging the Wraiths, tearing into them with some kind of rebounding substance, it was clear that the assumption was in error. And caught by surprise, the Wraith squadrons were being mutilated.

"Well take them out then," grunted Duke in response to the pilots' cries. "Take out those...those _mutalisks_."

Initially, they were taken out. The mutalisks had the advantage in numbers, but not only were the Wraiths faster, more agile and better armed and armoured, but were rendered virtually invulnerable by their cloaking systems. Initially the mutalisks fled, unable to fight an enemy they couldn't see. However, with the overlords moving forward, they once again engaged the human fighters, somehow able to identify them. And stripped of their most valuable asset, the advantage of numbers began to take its toll.

Alpha Squadron no longer had air superiority. And if it hadn't been for the Goliaths' anti-air missiles, the terrans would have lost it altogether.

This was the essence of the battle. Strike, counterstrike, reaction, spearpoint. Both sides were coordinate in their own manner. One side had raw power to rely on, the other had numbers. And with the declaration that Alpha Squadron had breached the hive cluster's perimeter, its spore and sunken colonies reduced to bloody messes, the battle hung in the balance. Alpha Squadron had entered the hornets' nest, but with the supply of hornets seemingly infinite while the humans' forces were not so, whether they could last long enough to finish the cluster off for good was doubtful.

This then, was the determining point. There was no turning back. And while claiming it would have been a battle between good and evil would be inaccurate, what with humanity's sins and that the xenomorphs had no real application for either concept, that did not detract from the significance. This was the moment.

Light against dark.

Winner take all.

* * *

**2047 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

_**Explorer**_**-class science vessel **_**Charon**_

Although it had been years since he'd ever actually been in battle, Kurze still remembered the basics.

Among those basics was close quarters combat. A somewhat redundant form of battle given the efficiency of 25th century technology, but one that his drill instructors insisted on teaching anyway. And among the lessons of martial prowess, was the concept of shatterpoint, the idea that finding your opponent's weakness before they found yours was essential to victory. Once the shatterpoint was found, victory was guaranteed for the discoverer.

Kurze never found a shatterpoint. Rising through the ranks quickly to lead Cerberus, he rather left that to other people if need be. But gazing at a tactical display of the battle in and around the hive, he began to appreciate the concept, the strengths and weaknesses of the humans and xenomorphs evident. Their shatterpoints had been revealed and it was only a matter of time until one side exploited it.

"Sir? Flight Sergeant Watson is requesting a defensive matrix for-…"

"Permission denied," grunted Kurze, not even glancing at the ensign. "I've already dispatched those Wraiths to the surface, I'm not risking the _Charon _down there."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir."

Sighing, Kurze rubbed his neck, courtesy of leaning over the holographic map too long. The _Charon _would have been useful on the surface-the Wraiths were equipped with energy shields, but against the swarms of creatures Duke had dubbed mutalisks, such protection was somewhat academic. And while irradiating the xenomorphs with radiation was another boon the science vessel could have brought, it was imperative that the _Charon _be kept out of harm's way, Kurze being the only link between Chau Sara and Confederate High Command.

_But how much longer will it remain safe? If Alpha Squadron fails, what's to stop those mutalisks from flying up to take us out?_

The lieutenant colonel wasn't sure whether the xenomorphs' aerial strains could achieve escape velocity but he wasn't too keen on being a guinea pig to determine whether this was the case. Alpha Squadron had performed that role days ago and the time for experiments was over. All that mattered now was cleaning up the glass of the shattered proverbial test tubes. Glass that there seemed to be no limit to…

Yet even those fragments could shatter. Shatter into pieces so tiny that cleaning them up wouldn't be required. And having scanned the xenomorph hive via ComSat, having detected some kind of telepathic field through sensors usually used to pick up human Alpha waves, Kurze had found the xenomorphs' shatterpoint. All that had to be done now was exploit it…

"Captain Arlo, this is Kurze. Suit up. You're going in."

* * *

**2057 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Interior of quantradyne APOD-33 dropship **_**Normandy**_

Déjà vu…that's what he felt.

Captain Shiff Arlo shook his head. Speculating on the workings of the universe made for a fine mental exercise, but neural resocialization didn't exactly help the imagination. And with only neosteel to protect him and what was left of his squad from alien horrors, he couldn't afford a lapse in concentration.

_Nor can the pilot _thought Arlo, wondering if the sudden jolt that shook the dropship was due to an error on Simpson's part or from one of the newly dubbed "spore colonies" finding its mark. Neither possibility was particularly appealing and the thought of being shot out of the sky like Second Squad, before his mission could even begin…what if déjà vu extended as far as that?

Sighing, Arlo glanced around the dropship's interior, at the three other firebats that comprised what was left of First Squad. Once again they were in for a hot drop. Once again they were in a single dropship, in for an aerial insertion. Once again Alpha Squadron was thinning their enemies out, giving Cerberus a chance in battle. And once again, the outcome of the battle rested on them.

_And our pilot, _thought the resoc bitterly as the dropship once again jolted. _Dammit, I thought the Alphas had cleared most of the spore colonies._

Three seconds and two sets of exclamations from the warrant officer later, it was clear that while the Blood Hawks might have been successful in clearing a corridor for the dropship by eliminating the spore colonies, the airborne organisms known as mutalisks were another matter entirely. In this, déjà vu was lessened, courtesy not only of their presence, but the balancing presence of the three remaining Wraiths of Gray Squadron, covering the aerial transport. With Gray 2 getting shot down by a spore colony however, déjà vu returned.

"Bloody hell…" Keyes murmured, watching along with the rest of Cerberus as the fighter's burning remains fell on the creep below. "It's like the Lazaran Gulleys all over again."

Arlo remained silent. Some things didn't need saying. Partly because you knew what the situation was, partly because you didn't need to be reminded how FUBAR said situation was. And as Gray 1's pilot screamed over the radio, the mutalisks apparently living up to their namesake in their…mutilation abilities, it was a situation Arlo knew had to be rectified.

"Simpson!" he yelled towards the cockpit. "How far to the LZ!?"

"ETA is about forty seconds," came the voice of the pilot, sounding unusually calm for someone who'd lost two-thirds of his escort in less than a minute.

"Better make that five seconds," murmured Arlo.

"Pardon?"

"I said make it five seconds!" yelled the captain. "We're sitting ducks up here and if this bird crashes we all get taken out with it! Set us down and we'll approach the hive by foot."

"…affirmative. Rodger that."

Breathing heavily, Arlo glanced back at his squad, trying to gauge their reactions. Not that there was much to gauge, all of them with their helmets on and visors down, but Arlo had possessed other means to judge the mood of a person through means other than facial appearances. It was how he chose his victims on Tarsonis, how much resistance a person would put up while he brought their life to an end. And although it was his life on the line this time along with the lives of three others (well, four if he counted the warrant officer, but Kurze had made it clear that he was expendable), similar criteria applied.

"Alright, change of plan," said the former serial killer, appreciating that his change of plan to approach the hive on foot would require some kind of explanation. "The xenomorph anti-air defenses are too much for a single dropship so we're going to go in low. It'll keep the craft safe and allow us a better chance at approaching the hive."

"The pilot maybe…" Milton murmured. "But what about us?"

"You afraid private?"

"No sir. But I'm not suicidal either."

Despite the situation, Arlo smiled faintly. It was inevitable that such a query would come up and although he was a man down, he was glad it wasn't from Summers. Cerberus operatives were completely loyal to the Confederacy and while they might have doubts about orders, they wouldn't shy from following them. Summers had been an exception however and in the current circumstances, one that wasn't beneficial.

"Don't worry Milton, I'm not suicidal either," said Arlo, getting up from his seat as the dropship sharply descended, grabbing a weapon rack for support and to retrieve a pair of satchels and E-9 rifles. "That's why I'm altering the plan slightly."

Taking one utility belt for himself and tossing one to Keyes, while handing Milton and Romesh an E-9 each, it became obvious what that plan was.

"These belts contain deuterium-eight charges," explained Arlo, slotting the explosives into his utility belt. "Taking one side each, Keyes and I will plant them around the hive and retreat to the dropship after we're done. Meanwhile, Milton and Romesh will provide covering fire with the rifles, along with keeping our LZ secure."

Blank glances greeted him, but only due to the visors. Despite the change from the original plan, that all four would assault the hive directly, plant charges and evacuate, they understood the necessity. E-9s were heavy rifles with smaller clips than C-14s, but with 10mm rounds, packed far more of a punch. Arlo and Keyes had the most experience and would be best suited for the harrowing task of sprinting towards the hive rather than approaching it by air, planting charges and sprinting back. A desperate plan to be sure. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

As one, the Hellbringers moved to the ramp as Simpson landed.

As one, their eyes gazed upon the center of the hive cluster.

And as one, dozens of eyes glared back at them…

* * *

**2101 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Grid J87**

_I'll never get used to this._

There were a few problems with such an analogy and Miranda Wilkes knew it. Getting used to her position of captain, of sending people to die while standing in a dropship required her survival, a prospect that was far from guaranteed. And admittedly there was the fact that while the Confederacy tended to wield a hammer to deal with its opponents, not all of the nails were particularly large and battles of this size were not always required. Oh, and at least at this point in time, most of its opponents were fellow terrans.

Somehow Wilkes found the second prospect more appealing. More morally heinous of course, but humans tended not to tear members of their species limb from limb in an orgy of death and destruction.

"Coming down to the LZ," came the voice of the pilot, information that her Adjutant had confirmed minutes ago. "ETA is fifteen seconds."

"Affirmative. Keep the engines hot," Wilkes said, strapping on her helmet. A regulation in this kind of situation, as the AI had reminded her in its usual monotone. Dreary, but after hearing the screams of terran and alien alike over the last few hours, after directing E Company in the knowledge that the screams would only get worse, the marine had welcomed it. "Your forces are under attack," was far more preferable to…well, other things.

_I'll never get used to this._

Despite her best efforts, despite trying to believe otherwise, Wilkes couldn't help but lapse into such a train of thought. Bad enough that men and women were dying under her command, but it was worse that she couldn't deal with the psychological effect. Sure, she was answering to Duke and Fisher had managed perfectly, but that was hardly an excuse for her own actions. So if that meant taking her command post down to the surface to evacuate the wounded, so be it. Wounded that, as far as she could see, were close to death's door.

"Wilkes!? What the hell are you doing?"

The captain quickly found the source of the voice. A certain staff sergeant she'd become acquainted with over the past few days and was running up to her. The NCO's helmet missing, his visage displayed a mix of emotions, identification of them not helped by the combination of sweat, grime and blood on his features, but there was no mistaking him.

"Perry…" said Wilkes slowly. "Nice to see you. How'd you know it was me?"

"Your visor isn't polarized," answered her friend simply. "And in case you haven't noticed, now isn't exactly the best time for a chat."

Despite the situation, Wilkes smiled. Beratement was so much more preferable to listening to the sounds of the dying, of curses and prayers to deities that didn't exist.

"You're right," said the captain. "Now's not the time to chat. Now's the time to get your wounded onto the dropship."

"What!?" Perry exclaimed, his visage now akin to as if he'd swallowed a lemon. "You're in command of an entire company and you come down to evacuate wounded!?"

"Yes," said Wilkes. "Lieutenant Hikowa cleared me for a landing."

Perry sighed.

_I'll never get used to this._

"Miranda, Hikowa was a resoc right up to the moment he was torn apart by zerglings and left me in charge of his platoon. So of course he's going to clear you for any misguided evacuation attempt by a captain who should be focused on command and control rather than-…"

The CMC-powered slap shut him up.

"Perry, look around!" Wilkes yelled. "Your men are _dying_. You're in charge of a platoon now and if you realized that, you'd see that you hardly have any Alphas left! Now either you help me get them onto the dropship so I can get them to safety or I'll stay here and command your men myself!"

The NCO raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by being slapped by his superior. Or maybe he knew that Wilkes wasn't feeling like a superior, that she knew what she was doing was stupid but was unable to deal with the alternative.

_I'll never get used to this._

"You've changed," murmured Perry eventually.

"I know," said Wilkes softly. "God help me Robert, I _know_. So please, before I change completely, at least help me with this. At least…at least…"

Wilkes couldn't complete the sentence and Perry understood why. Some things didn't need saying. And with an ultralisk currently bearing down on them, some things didn't have time to be said. So as those who could raised their gauss rifles, as the Blood Hawks preyed and cursed, Wilkes knew the conversation had come to an end and for better or worse, history was being repeated. Just like in Los Andares, except now she was Fisher. The one in command. The one who would decide whether people would live or die. The one who was akin to a _god_…

_I'll never get used to this. If I live that is._

* * *

**2106 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

_**Explorer**_**-class science vessel **_**Charon**_

"Hmm…interesting."

Had Xavier Kurze been in a different mindset, he might have berated himself for using such terminology. Commenting that the xenomorphs had taken the Flannum Installation qualified as "interesting" because it was something new. But receiving a response from Confederate High Command in regards to the Chau Saran situation was expected. And while their orders were not what he had anticipated, that shouldn't have been an issue. He was a cog in the machine and could ill afford to start turning the other way.

Kurze shook his head. He was using too many metaphors for his liking.

Slowly, the Cerberus commander rose from his command chair, gazing around the bridge and taking in the silence. A far cry from what was occurring on the surface, as the tactical map in front of him displayed, but with full authority over the planet, Kurze was above such things, both literally and figuratively. While the _Charon _would have proven to be an asset on the surface, such a position would not only put its crew at risk, but would render its communications lockdown impossible to enforce. And though CHC's orders rendered the ship's current status a moot point, or at least would in the near future, information spread quickly. And as it was said, a lie would get halfway across the galaxy before truth got its pants on.

_More metaphors, _thought Kurze, silently chastising himself. _And inaccurate ones at that. Any reports from Chau Sara about invading aliens would be true._

Was that an issue? Possibly, though lies were interwoven with propaganda by definition. And with propaganda a favored weapon of both the Confederacy and its enemies, truth was a weapon rarely available. Truth had its dangers of course. That's why the Confederacy spent so much time and effort covering up all the inconvenient truths about its actions in the Koprulu Sector. But as these truths rarely got out, and if they did, were inevitably mixed with lies by insurgents, the full effects of an inconvenient truth had rarely been observed. And if all went to plan, the inconvenient truth involving the xenomorphs and psi emitters would never come to light…

"Arlo to Kurze, are you receiving me?"

The Cerberus commander blinked. Partly out of surprise, partly due to a natural reaction to the flickering hologram in front of him. Where there had originally been a layout of the battle Alpha Squadron was waging against the invaders, the interior of a dropship was now displayed. An interior that only carried one man…

"Captain Arlo," said the lieutenant colonel. "I assume you have good news?"

Kurze knew that making assumptions was potentially hazardous, but such an assumption seemed safe enough in this case. If Arlo was contacting him his mission was almost certainly complete, his resocialization prompting him to complete an assigned mission or die trying. And although his comrades were nowhere to be seen and the blood on his armor was not entirely that of the xenomorphs, such factors were irrelevant in the event of the destruction of the hive.

"Yes sir," said the firebat, his tone distinctly neutral. "The deuterium charges have been planted and are set to go off in a few minutes."

"A few minutes?" asked Kurze curiously. "You don't know the exact point of detonation?"

Arlo remained silent for a few moments. Kurze didn't like that. It was a sign of inefficiency and Cerberus had to be the best of the best. Arlo had gone through hell, but he'd always been able to bounce back to purgatory. All of his operatives did…or rather, _had_.

"No sir, I don't know," answered the captain eventually. "I was more focused with getting out of there alive to report to you."

"And well done on that," murmured Kurze. "Too bad I can't say the same for your comrades."

"They did their job and accomplished their objectives. That's all that matters."

"But do you believe that?" asked the lieutenant colonel, leaning forward as he did so. "Is the mission and its outcome _really_ all that matters to you?"

Arlo didn't answer. An inability to deal with rhetorical questions perhaps? Or something worse…something that hinted at crumbling resocialization and thus a problem that had to be dealt with. Kurze drew himself back regardless. He'd deal with his problems one at a time. But still, best to get a start on this one…

"I hope you believe that," said the Cerberus commander, his monotone matching Arlo's own. "I really do hope that Shiff, because High Command has sent me new orders. And trust me, the conclusion of our mission is _very _important to them…"

* * *

**2106 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Grid J87**

Contrary to popular belief, Perry knew there was a distinction between pessimism between pessimism and defeatism. Over the course of his life, he'd seen his fair share of both of them. And with said life seemingly about to come to an end, he knew that pessimism was what he was experiencing.

Or to be specific, gloomy realism. Hence the difference.

"Sir, we need to get out of here!" a grunt yelled, fleeing from the behemoth currently in the process of turning a marine into road kill while simultaneously tearing apart a firebat with its scythes. "We can't stop it!"

"No shit," the staff sergeant murmured, shoving another clip into his gauss rifle. "Got any plans of reasonable escape?"

If the private had an answer, Perry didn't hear it. Further demonstrating the xenomorphs' capacity for intelligence, the ultralisk had destroyed the dropship Wilkes had brought with her, effectively stranding what remained of the platoon. And with their air support having evaporated and the battlefield too large for any ground units to effectively respond to any calls for help (if they could even afford to that is), a means of escape wasn't going to provide itself.

_Can't say I'm surprised, _thought the NCO to himself, diving aside as the ultralisk charged forward, four white armored individuals send flying through the air as a result.

Perry rose to his feet quickly, his armor's servos grinding under the abuse inflicted upon them the last few hours. Even with the 8mm spikes seemingly rebounding off the monster's armored carapace, he wasn't that worried. Any damage done to his armor at this point in time would be part of an attack that damaged his body beyond healing capacity by extension. All things considered, it was probably more of a hindrance right now. Or would have been, if not for its in-built comm. unit…

"All squads, stay lose dammit!" came the voice of Captain Wilkes. "Bunching around just makes you easier targets!"

Perry smiled grimly as one such squad scattered as the behemoth bore down on them, an action that he suspected that had more to do with self-preservation than following orders, resocialization-induced or otherwise. That Miranda was still capable of giving orders impressed him, but at this point at time was a moot point. She'd lost CIC abilities with the destruction of the dropship and with less than twenty soldiers still able to fight in this platoon, her company's others beyond her control, it wasn't as if command was what the squad needed.

No. Something else was…

"Captain, may I make a suggestion?" Perry asked, running parallel to the ultralisk but in the opposite direction. He wanted to keep it in his sights, but only for survival right now.

"I'm all ears sergeant!" Miranda shouted, the roar of gunfire on the other end of the radio suggesting she was trying to lead by example even with the ineffectiveness of their rifles.

_Leading by example. And to think that used to be my job…_

"Gather up explosive ordnance. Our spikes are useless and I doubt grenades are going to cut it. The bazookas may be our only hope."

"But Perry I-…"

"Dammit it captain!" Perry shouted, wincing as his CMC-armored foot trod in something wet and red. "We don't have time to worry about looting from the-…"

"Robert, I agree with you. But if you have time to loot with that thing about, we don't have something in common!"

Perry winced again. He'd been called by his forename over an open channel.

If the marines recognized the significance of this they gave no sign, instead acting on the exchange in a manner that was basically following orders. The infantry hadn't brought many explosive weapons with them, having operated under the assumption that Alpha Squadron's vehicles would support them, but across the battlefield were such weapons. Bazookas. HEAT rounds. Sometimes together. Sometimes not.

The first volley having been fired when the ultralisk attacked, "not" was often the case.

Less than ten terrans now stood tall, though given that the ultralisk stood three times taller than they did, "tall" wasn't the best word to use. "Screwed" was a good word though. It described their situation aptly.

_So this is it, _Perry thought grimly. _The end._

It certainly seemed that way. Their final gamble had failed. A few rockets had hit the ultralisk and while bleeding heavily, was still capable of moving. And following its movement, the NCO saw it was heading for the largest group of terrans present. A group of three, all grouped around a certain captain…

And then it happened.

"Unless I be relieved by prayer…"

Perry ran towards them, knowing he'd reached Miranda before the ultralisk did, knowing that nothing else could help them.

"Which pierces so, that it assaults…"

He smiled. Reciting Shakespeare while his CO stared death in the face, firing a rifle. Funny how things changed.

"Mercy itself, and frees all faults."

Mistakes. They'd both made them, Miranda's coming down to evacuate wounded one of them. But in Perry's mind, that mistake didn't deserve punishment.

"As you from crimes would pardoned be…"

He was the criminal here. No better than neurally resocialized criminals. The one who had changed for the better, but still tainted. His superior was far more worthy.

"Let your indulgence set me free."

Pushing the group out of the way and sent flying through the air in turn, Perry was set free.

He'd committed his last act. Saved a life, instead of taking one.

He'd made a difference. One that mattered.

And glimpsing the bright light on the horizon, only to be swallowed up by death's darkness, he died happy, taking this knowledge with him.

* * *

This is how it feels to be Miranda Wilkes.

You're in pain.

This is not a feeling that is entirely new to you. You've felt pain before. Physical pain that comes from farm work and the rigors of the battlefield and emotional pain that comes from watching the waste of human life. But while the pain you feel right now falls into both categories, the latter far outweighs the former.

It's a pain that will always be with you…

You hear yourself breathing, dry air scratching your lungs. You hear the roars of the ultralisk and its heavy footsteps, their fading sound indicating it's heading in the opposite direction from the one you're headed in. You hear your cries of anguish, of denial, of fear…

You can't help it.

You collapse in the blood-soaked soil besides your comrade, though the term hardly does the man justice. You throw off your helmet, ignoring the radio chatter that the xenomorphs have descended into chaos and that their hive has been destroyed. You don't hear Kurze's orders for Alpha Squadron to hold its position and prepare for departure, despite that the last member of Gray Squadron has sighted another hive cluster. All you hear is your own sobbing.

"Robert?" you whisper, moving over to the broken body of your friend. "Robert? Are you all right?"

He's not alright. His armor and chest is crushed and blood is pouring out of his mouth, courtesy of his crushed lungs. Only his closed organic eye and non-illuminated ocular implant give any sense of him being in peace.

The pain intensifies.

_No! No, it's not possible! _you lie to yourself. _It's just not _possible!

But it is. Humans are frail beings after all.

This…this isn't right. Stories don't end like this! Stories have happy endings, don't they? They don't have dear friends being torn away from you! At the end of the story, the friendship (or love, it doesn't matter at this point) is solidified, not destroyed by rampaging monsters.

But it has been destroyed.

Destroyed by a monster.

A monster that you know is yourself.

You did it. You killed him. Not the ultralisk. You. Only _you_.

You killed him because you were weak. You killed him because when you knew you had to cast your emotion aside, you didn't. You killed him because if you'd brought that dropship down later, a quick dust-off could have been accomplished. You killed him because you froze up as the creature bore down on you, cracking under the pressures of a command that should never have been entrusted to you. You killed him because the one time you could have repaid your friend for saving your life so often, you were only thinking of yourself.

And now, alone in this universe, separated from friends and family, your _self _is all you are left with.

You scream. You sob. You are like a painter gone blind, like a writer gone deaf. You just don't _know _anymore. You were never independent. You were always a little girl, bumbling through the real world through a combination of luck and charity. You want to kill yourself, but you can't.

Death is an escape. You don't deserve to escape. In the end, you don't want to. For all that's occurred, you're still a human being and know that you owe humanity more than this. You still have work to do.

So you sit in the soil, knowing that who was once Prospero and became Ferdinand is now gone. You sit in the soil and weep. You sit in the soil and let your shame and grief fester.

This is how it feels to be Miranda Wilkes.

Forever.

* * *

_A/N_

_Well, this chapter took awhile..._

_The basic reason for this was switching my attention to _The New Order,_ a_ StarCraft _fic for Blizzard's writing contest. Given the word limit of ten-thousand words at the most, suffice to say, this story would have been a bit long. This chapter was no exception, in that I decided to expand on certain aspects of it, such as the omnipitant section. Not everything was included however, as I decided to cut out a section that depicted Arlo actually planting the charges and losing his team simultaniously. I felt that such an event worked better with the reader knowing its result rather than exactly how it happened-easier to convey neurally resocialized neutrality and I think it's safe to say at this stage, the nature of Cerberus fighting the zerg has been done sufficently._

_Anyway, that's just me. One more chapter to go regardless._


	12. Daughter of Prospero

_Whoso saveth the life of one, it shall be as if he have saved the life of all mankind._

The Koran (Old Earth religious text, banned by the United Powers League in 2231)

* * *

**StarCraft: Loomings**

**Chapter 12: Daughter of Prospero**

**2215 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

**Grid J87**

There were many sayings in the English language and before they were banned more than two centuries ago, other languages as well. These sayings being developed was a natural process really. Certain truths became apparent over time and platitudes were a way of conveying these truths on a basic level, such as a means of comparison. That being the case, it was perhaps strange that no saying had been applied to Chau Sara yet. A Core World of the Confederacy, yet universally regarded as a wasteland for the most part.

Then again, that might not be a truth for much longer.

Sitting on the corpse of a hydralisk, Miranda Wilkes knew it, or at least came as close to _knowing _such a thing as her current mindset allowed. Certainly sitting on the corpse of a creature of nightmare did not speak of a conventional state of mind. True, the soil wasn't much better, intermixed with the blood of terran and alien alike, but why not stand? Her CMC armor provided more than enough structural support and as a captain, wasn't she obliged to stand tall over those she commanded?

In her mind, she wasn't. There were barely any members of the Alpha Squadron force left to command and nothing required seeing to anyway. The xenomorphs had fled, her troops were dead and staring blankly across the battlefield, she didn't even realize the two rhymed. All she knew was that even with the unannounced retrieval of human bodies and incineration of alien ones, there'd still be enough organic matter to turn this area of Chau Sara into an Eden, albiet one built on blood. Still, the analogy was good enough in her mind. Like Adam, she had fallen to temptation and paid the price, even if gender cast her as Eve. She had given in to weakness and was left to wander the wasteland outside Eden as punishment.

Still silent, still reflecting on her sins, Miranda looked up at the night sky-the wasteland as the case was. The seeds of war had yet to bear fruit, even if the tree's apples had already been plucked. Perry was dead and despite clutching onto the small item she held in her left hand, completely hidden by her suit's gauntlet, it was small consolation. Funny how being moral had led to disaster, how being _more _like the xenomorphs might have guaranteed victory rather than going down the road to idealism. So funny, in fact, that she didn't even hear another one of her kind approaching her. In fact, the first thing she truly heard in over an hour was the following words…

"Ma'am? Are you alright?"

Slowly, as if dwelling in an eternity that only Eden could have provided, the captain turned around, sending the corpse of the xenomorph down further into the ground in the process. The question hadn't been asked in humor, but sitting on an alien body while staring blankly certainly gave such an opening. Then again, she could see that it was a lieutenant that had approached her, probably thrust into a chain of command that her blunder had left open. Humor probably went against his training.

"What do you want?" Miranda asked bluntly, her voice devoid of emotion.

"Um…well…"

"Spit it out boy, I'm not dead yet," she lied.

Part of the woman's mind alerted her to the fact that she was beginning to sound like Colonel Duke, but the rest of her mind couldn't give a damn. The battle was over and she'd fucked up. The end. And either the lieutenant would give her something new, or he could fuck off as well.

"We received orders to move out half an hour ago," the man said, straightening up as he did so. Apparently he'd accepted the concept of sitting on the bodies of the fallen. "We're to report to the dropships, head up to the _Dauntless _and leave the system."

"What?" Miranda asked, her brain starting to open up to external information. "We're to just pick up and leave?"

The officer shrugged. "That's what Duke said. Or what the commander of Cerberus Squadron said at least. The exact orders were only given to superior officers."

Miranda snorted at this. "Superior" wasn't how she'd describe herself right now. "Foolish" was more like it, especially if she'd been so zoned out that she hadn't heard whatever mystery orders Kurze had given. Still, unlike losing her closest friend, she could at least correct this mistake by rewinding her comm. unit's record and replaying whatever message the lieutenant colonel had sent out. Simple really.

The orders weren't however…

As quick as Adam accepted the fruit of forbidden knowledge, Miranda stood up, armed with knowledge of her own. Well, not just hers, but that the battlefield was now practically empty except for a dropship that the lieutenant claimed was waiting for her spoke for itself. Knowledge was power, but you still had to have enough of that knowledge to make that power effective. And while the captain was anything but confident about her abilities as a leader right now, she still knew the difference between right and wrong. A weakness perhaps, but one that she intended to exploit if such a thing were possible.

"Ah, good evening ma'am," said the pilot of the craft as the two officers entered. "Up to the _Dauntless _then?"

"No, the _Charon_," Miranda grunted, taking a seat without making eye contact. "We're making a short detour."

The pilot remained silent, but followed the orders anyway. Neural resocialization did that to you. It made you obey orders without question, even if your superiors and clutching their left hand as if their life depended on it. It made you obey orders without question even after your superiors took a small object out of said fist and hold it in both hands and bury their face in it.

And you even obeyed orders if your superior murmured something about killing the Cerberus commander…

* * *

**2241 hours, ****November 12, 2499 (SCT) **

**Sara System, Chau Sara**

_**Explorer**_**-class science vessel **_**Charon**_

Xavier Kurze rarely congratulated himself for a variety of reasons. For starters, situations where he was in a position to were few and far between. Cerberus Squadron did dirty jobs. Small, covert operations of which there were many, courtesy of human nature. Assassinations, extractions...all in a day's work for him. And besides, pride could be a dangerous thing. Not only did it lead to falls, but could also lead to ambition. Cerberus existed in a small niche of the Confederate military and seeking to get out of that niche without approval of the powers that be would see Kurze falling in a very literal sense.

It was easy to portray falling off a building as suicide...

Still, that wouldn't happen. Firstly because the lieutenant colonel knew better to let such a thing happen and that sometimes he'd complete a task where he felt that he'd truly earnt the right to bask in a job well done, even if the contents could only be revealed to a select few. And having executed the orders of Confederate High Command flawlessly, having gathered more data on the xenomorphs in days than their research groups had in years, not to mention keeping the existence of the creatures a secret from those outside Chau Sara, he felt he'd earnt the right to pat himself on the back.

Of course, it hadn't been him alone that had preserved the Confederacy's integrity, or at least what passed for it. The xenomorphs had to be fought for that to be preserved and many had died as a result. Not exactly a tragedy, but still, it would do him good to remember that. Such knowledge would be another safeguard against any surge of dangerous pride. Therefore, having finished reading the report Captain Shiff Arlo had given him, the lieutenant colonel decided to speak his mind.

"You did a good job down there Shiff," said Kurze, looking up from the dossier to where the resoc stood in front of his office desk. "A very good job indeed."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir," murmured all that remained of the Cerberus firebats.

"Anything else you want to talk about?"

"No sir. Nothing sir."

Kurze kept smiling as he leant back in his chair, though it was not as sincere as it had been a few seconds ago. Arlo wouldn't want to talk about anything, his resocialization prevented him from doing that. But after fighting tooth and nail against the xenomorphs in conditions that would have broken the will of lesser men, it was expected that he'd be affected somewhat. Neural resocialization was known to 'shatter' under periods of intense stress and while Arlo's was mild when compared to most other members of the Confederate Armed Forces, that still left a human spirit. One hardened by the profession of a serial killer, but a spirit nonetheless.

"Very well," said the Cerberus commander, sliding the file into one of his desk draws and pulling out another marked **Top Secret**. "You may go now."

With a salute, Arlo did so. Off to whatever the Confederacy assigned him to. Probably not a desk job for the Council like Collins, a position that Kurze had taken great pleasure in assigning him to, but not the same life he'd led before either. Regardless, it didn't matter. It wasn't Kurze's job to give his men psychological evaluations. It was his job to do what his masters told him to do. And in this case, that job included reading a copy of an electronic file that Confederate High Command had sent him.

He would have got round to it too, if not for the fact that someone entered the room as Arlo walked out...

"Kurze! What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

The lieutenant colonel looked up in surprise, his gaze meeting the gaze of...well, to be honest, the last person he expected to see. Clearly he was in for more surprises.

"Well, until you barged in, I was going about my business," he said, sliding the file High Command had sent him under more sensitive ones. He had a suspicion where this was going.

"Oh yes, I can see that," snarled Captain Miranda Wilkes, placing both of her palms on the desk as she leant forward. "You're just twaddling along up here while you leave Chau Sara to the wolves!"

Kurze was taken aback. He knew who this...person was. It was the girl he'd appointed to replace Captain High Fisher, courtesy of a rampaging ultralisk in Los Andares. It hadn't been a choice made lightly, but in the end he felt it had been the right one. Wilkes might have been inexperienced, but ingenuity was a rare commodity and one he felt would have been useful in a battle against an alien foe. A simple equation of balancing this up with the drawbacks of timidity and compassion, and he'd made his decision.

But looking at the woman in front of him. Pure rage in those gray eyes, the navy blue of dress uniform rather than out-of-place combat armour...clearly Arlo hadn't been the only one who'd come up from Chau Sara with adverse effects. Clearly he'd miscalculated.

"Why don't you start from the beginning?" asked Kurze. "Why don't you tell me what the problem is?"

Wilkes laughed softly. "As if you don't know you conniving bastard. You feed us to the wolves-..."

"Xenomorphs, captain."

"Whatever!" Wilkes reached for something in her pocket, bringing out a single comm. unit. "You can be as literal or figurative as you like, but you can't take back these words!"

Kurze had no idea what she was talking about, but listening to the recording on the comm. unit, it became clear. The words the warrior woman in front of him was referring to were the same words he'd given the Alpha Squadron commanders more than an hour ago...

_Alpha Squadron commanders, be advised. By edict of Confederate High Command, all matters regarding these xenomorphs are under class-seven seal. Do not speak of the existence of the xenomorphs or in any way relay the events surrounding their appearance on Chau Sara. Failure to comply with these orders will result in immediate termination. This conversation never took place. We were never here._

"There's more to it of course," Wilkes murmured, putting the comm. unit back in her pocket. "But that's all I needed to hear back on Chau Sara. You don't care that there's still xenomorphs on the surface. You don't care that you're ensuring that everyone who died down there died for nothing. You don't care-…"

"Oh for flick's sake Wilkes, of course I don't care!" Kurze exclaimed, astonished as to how extraordinarily stupid someone who hadn't been brain-panned could be. "Why would I? If I actually _cared _about Chau Sara or its population, I couldn't do my job! Hell, I'd be just like you!"

The girl seemed taken aback, but only for a moment. Thoughtless rage might have been motivating her, but it was effective enough to keep her on the attack.

"Right now, Kurze, you don't want to be me," she said slowly. "But that doesn't mean I want to be like you. If I were, I wouldn't-…"

"What, make a big fuss about nothing?" the Cerberus commander laughed.

Stunned silence filled the room. Good. It gave him an opening.

"Wilkes, I don't know how much of a brain you possess, but I humbly request that you use it," said Kurze, rising from his seat as he did so. "Even if we did defeat all the xenomorphs, what then? You think everything would be business as usual?"

Wilkes remained silent.

"These are aliens, captain, and hostile aliens at that. And while terrans can be hostile too, they can be rather stupid also. If word of an alien invasion got out…well, what do you think would happen?"

Wilkes met Kurze's gaze, which was difficult considering that he was pacing around her. "I can't speak for us all, commander. But I'd expect that it would unite us. Put an end to our own strife and-…"

"_Or_, the more likely scenario would occur," Kurze interrupted, not in the mood to listen to naive bullshit. "Chau Sara is, or _was_ a Confederate planet. People here about aliens down there and they'll think our government is connected."

Which it was, of course. But no need to tell her that.

"Besides, the xenomorphs obviously came from somewhere and we need to be prepared for anywhere else they may strike," the lieutenant colonel continued. "Chau Sara will thus be kept isolated. A testing ground, if you will, to see how more expendable forces fare against the aliens. They can fight and die by their own merits, giving the Confederacy the information needed to save the rest of humanity."

Wilkes snorted. "You think you can just write off a planet and think no-one will care?"

Kurze laughed. "Of course they'll care Wilkes, if only out of faint curiosity and vague sympathy. But you know how the world works. People believe what they're told. And once they're told the truth about how a Sons of Korhal force was defeated on Chau Sara, they'll assume that the Alpha Squadron dregs we leave on the surface will be part of a suppression campaign. A lie perhaps, but all good lies stem from a grain of truth. Surely you can appreciate that."

He was facing her now. The moment of truth. Cold eyes locked with each other, yet for entirely different reasons.

"I notice that I'm not one of your so-called dregs," Wilkes murmured eventually.

"No, you're not," Kurze admitted. "You're a good commander, if somewhat naive. How Duke keeps the Alphas quiet is his own business, but he's got enough sense to ensure confidentiality on his own part, not to mention the ability to make sacrifices. Regardless, Chau Sara is now under complete lockdown, so no-one can verify any rumors anyway and given how backwater the planet is, I doubt that anyone could be bothered."

Wilkes smiled. "I think you might want to change that line of thought, sir."

Kurze raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

Funny how dynamics could shift. In an instant, Wilkes was now in control.

"Call me a dreg if you want," said the captain slowly, "but don't call me naive. Once, yes, but I know that four-hundred thousand people live on that _backwater planet _and they don't deserve to be sacrificed for the sake of an experiment. I can't fight the Confederacy, Kurze. But I can fight the xenomorphs. And if the only Alphas left on the surface are dregs, then they need so-called good soldiers to lead them."

"Lead them to their deaths," Kurze pointed out.

"We're all dead sir. We were all dead the moment we stepped foot on that planet. And when true human nature reveals itself, when the right thing happens, you'll realize that you were dead to the universe long before that."

And with that, she turned and walked out.

Kurze didn't try to stop her. If Wilkes wanted to kill herself, fine, but for now, he'd let her have her moment. Chau Sara was dead to him and no help would be coming. Not from the Confederacy, not from 'high above' (as much a delusion as her own views of morality), not from anything or anyone. And although the former lieutenant had been a good asset, she was just that-an asset. An expendable one and could easily be replaced. After all, life was cheap.

Shrugging, Kurze returned to his desk and his file. The one marked **Top Secret**. The one that held some interesting information on devices known as psi emitters and their connection to the xenomorphs. Or at least what used to be the xenomorphs. High Command had apparently decided on a new name, as if to legitimize the threat they faced.

They'd decided to call them the zerg…

* * *

The long night has begun.

Above Chau Sara, the _Dauntless _enters warp space to rendezvous with the _Norad II_, as per the orders of Colonel Duke. He has his orders and he'll follow them. He doesn't care that he's leaving 400,000 people to die.

In the depths of the Swarm, surrounded by a living fleet of bio-warships, the Overmind contemplates. It has suffered a defeat on Chau Sara and it realizes that. Humanity has proven itself to be a greater foe than it imagined. But no matter. The Swarm is eternal. The Swarm will never die. And having spread to many worlds throughout the Koprulu Sector, the Swarm is _everywhere_.

On the bridge of the _Hyperion_, Arcturus Mengsk undergoes similar contemplation. Chau Sara has been a major setback for the Sons of Korhal, but not an irrevocable one. First Contact has been made on a Confederate planet. He knows that the Confederacy has possessed knowledge of the xenomorphs for over a decade. Now he has proof. Now all the Sons of Korhal have to do is exploit this truth to their own ends.

And onboard the _Charon_, Kurze sits and reads, ignoring the dying planet below him. Not out of malice, not out of hatred, but simply because he doesn't _care_.

The dark is everywhere and these individuals dwell in it. But even in the darkest night, there are those who dream of dawn.

On the _Norad II_, Michael Liberty writes his latest column for UNN, or at least tries to under current censorship. He hasn't heard about Chau Sara yet. But he soon will. And in the war that is to come, he will be a voice of truth in a symphony of lies. It's in his nature.

In the depths of space, an alien warship patrols a space lane. Not terran, not zerg, but something else. Something that will soon come across zerg probes and discover the threat they present to all life. And despite the future edicts of this race, of the Firstborn, Executor Tassadar will endeavor to save as much life as he can. He is of the protoss. It's in his nature.

On Chau Sara's sister world of Mar Sara, a marshal greats the dawn. He doesn't know about Chau Sara's state, but if he did, he'd make all haste to get there. But he needn't worry. Mar Sara will soon meet a similar fate. And when that happens, James Raynor will be there to meet it head on.

And onboard the _Charon_, Miranda Wilkes boards a dropship to take her down to the planet, to cross the River Styx of space to the afterlife. Not to the Elysian Fields, but to Tartarus. The realm of the damned. But despite Chau Sara being such a place, her soul will be saved in the process. Clutching the identity tags of Robert Perry in her hand, she knows she has to earn salvation. She knows she has to do the right thing, even if no-one will ever hear of it.

But that doesn't matter. She knows something the Confederacy doesn't.

She knows that for all the powers of the dark, the light will never be extinguished. While the dark is everywhere, the stars shine brightly and will continue to do so. And even now, the Saran star casts light down on that which has fallen into darkness. A new morning is coming. And while the dark continues to encroach, the lights still burn. Hope stands strong.

And that's what matters.

**The End**

* * *

_A/N_

_Well, it's finished. One reboot, two sidetracks to other _StarCraft _stories and it's finished._

_Concerning this chapter specifically, not much changed from my initial conception. I'd originally planned the last section to focus entirely on the Overmind having one of its rants, but later felt (as in when I actually started writing the chapter) that it would be too similar to such sections beforehand. I wanted to convey a broader scope of the individuals about to be thrust into the Great War, giving a greater sense of scale of the going-ons in the Koprulu Sector. Of course, I threw an OC into the mix as well in such a section, but still, _someone _had to be a personification of the prequel campaign's player character. _

_Anyway, as I said, this story is now finished and at this time of writing, will be one of the last multi-chaptered _StarCraft _stories I do for quite awhile. Those two sidetrack stories I mentioned were other stories set in this universe _(Operation: Claws _and _The New Order _and while I have quite a few more stories in the final stage of drafting, none of them are ready to be written. Other stories are however, and it's them I intend to focus on, the first of which being my _Warcraft _story _Denial_. _

_All in all, I've had fun writing in this universe and will continue to do so. But it isn't the only universe I can write for and hopefully I'll be able to convey that. And if not, I can always return. I certainly intend to at least. And after all, _StarCraft II _is on the horizon..._


End file.
